365 Days- Book I

56. Photograph

August 25, 2018

"Write a story or journal entry influenced by a photograph."

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He walked with the grace that nature and God had conspired to bless all of his species, a grace that was envied, admired and emulated. That envy, admiration and emulation did not effect him; he was ignorant or uncaring about it. He was used to both exaltation and debasement and was subsequently indifferent to being worshipped as Bastet or reviled as harbingers of ill luck, though his cousin and the king of the jungle, the lion, fares better, being revered across most cultures. Yet, he has no answers as to how it is assumed that he and his ilk have nine lives or how curiosity is supposed to kill him.

His paws left no whisper though there would be a slight shift in the air when he swished his tail, a sign that he was the hunter of the night. Unfortunately in the concrete jungle of the cities, it was hardly a clear night and more often than not he would be reduced to fighting it with the other street cats for the leftovers flung into the rubbish bins. He is not too please to be sharing his space with the two legged, tailless creatures who has usurped his hunting grounds and have turned his nights into a blinking version of bright daylight.

The smells confuse him; his survival depends on his sense of smell, for he uses  scent to sniff out food, mates, enemies, and to seek out his own territory, which he has previously marked. His world is the world of scents and odors, and man with his fast food trucks, foul gases emitting vehicles, strong perfumes and deodorants; created a plethora of scents, which confound him. Further, they always seem to be around, walking, running or hopping, with no sense of time or reason, there was never a rhyme or rhythm to their movements.

He sighs, his tail droops a bit and a tiny shadow flits across those emerald green eyes; there is not chance of being able to hunt a decent meal, he would have to chose an alternate method. Leaping over the wall to another one, he gently drops on to the ground, his flexible spine and strong leg and back muscles enable him to drop on his fours from a height of six feet. In the shadows, with his midnight velvet coloured fur, he is invisible but for his vivid green eyes. Eyes that stare unblinkingly at the the door that would open to that alley.

He settles on his haunches, not appearing to be bothered by the cold flagstones, and starts wash his face, in small gentle movements with his sharp claws and barbed tongue, even as he kept a vigilant eye on the door. At last his patience is rewarded, as the door opens and light floods the alleyway; his eyes take time to adjust to the brightness, and it seems to have perturbed the person behind the door, who shouts, "Kitty...Kitty...where are you? If he objects to be called as that, there is no indication, for he slowly saunters towards her, a soft purr filling the air. 

The woman gives a warm chuckle, he likes that sound; and she bends to pet him. He allows her too, though he had bristled in the initial months, objecting to her touch. However, with passage of time and a developed liking to the creamy milk which she poured for him, he seemed to have relaxed enough to let her pet him. 

A small price to pay for a fully belly. His meal done, he saunters to the corner of the kitchen, snuggles into the litter set out for him and drops off to sleep.

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Word count 606

Picture credit: Rawpixel.com