Liches Get Scritches: A Cat Cultivation

I ate everything I could, because I knew I needed lots of energy. Every morning I ran through the forest. I climbed the tallest tree, once, twice, three times a day. I jumped and I leapt. I tossed rocks from their ledges and batted bugs from their perches. I hunted, oh how I hunted. First I caught nothing but insects, slow creeping things that tasted of earth and dust, but soon I was snatching butterflies out of the air. One gulp and they were mine! They tasted like nothing - dry leaves on my tongue, but they were good practice for finer prey. My muscles grew bigger, my steps grew surer. The birds already feared me, soon they would all be in my belly.

It was good that I was there to defend the cottage. My Maud was very busy doing two-legger things and there were all manner of trespassers who needed to be removed: mice that scurried under the floorboards, and little ghosties that flitted through the shadows when they thought no one was watching. The first time I tried to catch one of those I flew straight through it, landing with a thump on my nose. It faded away with a sigh before I even had time to pick myself up. I would get the ghosties soon, I just needed practice. They probably tasted even more nothing than the butterflies, so they could wait.

For now, I focused on tastier prey because my belly was growing as much as the rest of me. Sometimes I thought, even bigger than the rest of me, and now I know it was just fuel for the rest of me. My patience soon paid off. The very next day I pattered over the thatch, my eye on an oblivious, delicious-looking fat sparrow. My tummy was low, scraping the scratchy straw.

It did not see me coming, so silent was my passage! I pounced, soaring through the air with the sureness of a mighty predator. My limbs were a flash of darkness. Victory was mine, victory and a mouth full of feathers: my very first flyer. I put an end to the chirping with one savage twist.

The sparrow had little meat on its bones but it was only a beginning. More worthy hunts would yield better grades of prey: more meat, fat squeakers, plump flyers, all manner of tasty vermin. My efforts doubled. Soon I was catching them every day. No ghosties yet, but soon. Soon.

The Small Folk were too tricksy to catch, for now, but they did not look that tasty anyway. Birds were my favourite, because hunting them required stealth, cunning and more often than not, acrobatics. Some of them tasted good, some of them did not. I made sure to taste them all so I could learn which is best. Eventually I knew I would eat everything, so I could compare what was best!

Occasionally, because I was a generous kit, I would bring a plump, slow mouse to Maud, but she did not enjoy them as she should. She was not good at hunting. She was, in fact, terrible. Being the thoughtful kit I was, I made sure to deposit them alive but a little dazed in her sleeping place. This made her dance and squeal, which was funny, but still she did not catch them, although she did throw a shoe. Her aim was as bad as her hunting. I tried to help, patting and encouraging but her lack of ability made her crazy.

“Jenkins! You are supposed to take them out of the house, not bring them in!”

She was kind but not terribly bright. Next time I brought a lizard but she didn’t like that either. Nor the birds. Invariably she lost them in the garden, which was a waste of both our efforts.

This was fine, I would hunt well enough for both of us.

My body grew larger and more sure with each pass of the sun. When it rained I practised my jumping inside the cottage. I did not like the rain. Getting wet made my fur look ugly, and reminded me of drowning. Still, I could now spring from the windowsill to the cupboard to the rafters and back again with ease. Soon I would not need the cupboard. I could tell my Maud appreciated my training, she shouted loudly with encouragement whenever I knocked anything over.

The days passed by in a blur of growing, and eating and dreaming. I neglected nothing.

There was always so much to do, to see, to smell. I could smell everything. Sometimes it was distracting to have such a wonderful nose and I found myself scampering from scent to scent in an ecstasy of delight, forgetting what I had initially set out to do. It did not matter that much. Like everything else my sense of smell was growing better and better. I needed to train it too. Already I could tell the difference between my Maud and a spider and a goat, even when they had been gone for many hours. Spiders left a lingering scent that was both musty and delicate, like their legs before I smacked them and they curled into little balls. The scent of my Maud was more robust: giant and flour and sharp herbs. The nanny goat was a distinctive mix of flatulence, straw and milk.

Using just my nose I was able to make a map of the cottage and surrounds. It was fun to dash through it with my eyes closed. Occasionally I bumped into things before I smelled them but not very often.

Exhausted from my efforts, and the joy of life, I slept deep and well.

There were many good places to sleep. A dry hollowed out log at the back of the cottage gave me a great view of the garden and one side of the forest. When inside it, I was practically invisible. The crook of the small oak by my Maud’s altar was warm and sunny, even if it smelled a bit funny. Inside the cottage was best, however, I feel safest there, protected by four stone walls and knowing my Maud would watch over me.

Sometimes, especially if I slept in a sunbeam, I nodded off watching the light dance, and then I would dream of my family. Mother welcomed me, purring into the family pile with a rasping lick. At first I thought it was just my own sweet memories, but then I realised the phantom bodies of my brothers and sisters were almost as grown as I, not small like I remembered them. (Of course, they were not as big nor as beautiful as me, but still larger than my memories of them.)

I was warm and content. Their presence in my dreams filled me with peace.

Still, I was keen to find them in the waking world. So I wandered the forest in search of their homes but I found only more trees. That was alright. I liked trees. It was just a matter of time. In the meantime, I discovered many other pretty places: a grove of hemlocks with clusters of rook’s nests high in the branches, a tall birch with a wild bees’ nest, and a windswept rounded hilltop with a particularly majestic oak tree. The tree had a spirit, but he was friendly and enjoyed my company. Sometimes he let me sun myself on his branches.

One day, my adventures led me to a new section of the forest, one that I had not yet explored. Padding along the mossy floor with my tail held high and my ears pricked I heard a gurgling noise beyond some ferns.

I followed it.

It sounded familiar, and made unease stir in my belly, even as I was compelled to identify the source. The ground sloped down. The air was damp. Faint laughter echoed from beyond a thick thicket. I knew that voice. I ground to a halt, spitting.

At the bottom of the gully River waited for me, her waters rushing over pebbles and stones. She waved, arm flung up in a wide arc, and a few droplets of water landed on my pristine coat. The fur on my back rose into an aggressive ridge. While I made my displeasure clear, the river spirit just laughed, rolling over and over on stones, and splashing me until I was forced to retreat back up the slope.

Beyond the spirit I could see more forest, and a pathway winding into the trees… but to get there I would have to cross her waters. Or leap over it.

No, I was not going there. Not yet, anyway. Not that day. Not until my claws were hard enough to cut water.

I turned my back on the scary, noisy, gurgling spirit and sauntered back into the woods like I did not care. Perhaps having claws hard enough to cut water was an idle dream, but I thought not. Like everything else, it was just a matter of time. Afterall, I sharpened mine every day on the big oak in my garden, and sometimes on the kitchen table legs. They were growing sharper all the time. Soon I would have no need to be afraid of the water.

Feeling disgruntled, I stopped to drag my claws along a nearby tree stump.

The wood splintered beneath them, a satisfying split, and I fed some of my anger into the soft wood. Then I felt better. Still angry, and a little lonely, but better.

I did not understand why I was so angry.

There was a crow on top of the tall tree stump, preening its feathers and glaring down at me. I had not yet caught a crow-flyer. They were quite wily, but the blackness of their feathers was pleasing. It was like me, only less beautiful, shadowy and dark. This one looked a little rumpled. Was it just an old crow, or was it grouchy? Perhaps I should ask it.

“Hello!” I said to the rumpled crow. “Are you very old?”

“Kaaaaa-” it said back to me.

We locked eyes for a moment, then it flapped away.

For some reason this annoyed me. Did it not want to speak to me or could it not speak? I realised I was a fearsome predator and that small creatures of the forest surely cowered as I passed. Perhaps it was just afraid? I would have liked to talk to someone though. At least until I found my brothers and sisters. Or was it only cats that could speak? If only I had someone to ask.

Approaching the cottage I saw a squeaker streaking along the wall, some of my Maud’s seeds clutched in its mouth. I pounced on the thief, holding it firmly beneath one elegant, splayed paw. Sticking my face close to its trembling nose I announced myself: “Hello! My name is Jenkins! Who are you, weak quivering thing?”

The squeak-thief squealed and twisted but said absolutely nothing, so I bit its head off and continued on my way.

Pathetic.

I should not even try to talk to prey, how could I expect anything from it?

“Hello!” I said to the nanny goat in the garden shed. I could eat the nanny goat but it would take me a long time, and my Maud finds her useful. So not really prey.

Silence. Her eyes remained glassy, as she sluggishly chewed her cud. The geese honked and hissed at me, but said nothing, although I could tell they were smarter than the chickens. Probably. I wiped my feet on the grass in disgust and made for the cottage.

Perhaps all other creatures were like this? I was not sure why it surprised me, they were not cats. I knew cats are special, Mama had told me so. Still. I caught a hint of something when I tried to talk to the bees, but they were so busy buzzing and so loud I am not sure. Amusement and latent aggression? A warning in case I get too close to the hives?

Whatever. With a jaunty flick of my tail I pranced indoors.

I did not want to talk to River, and the nice tree spirit lived too far away to talk to often. At least I had my Maud, but she was busy. At that moment she was cooking up smelly potions and muttering over her cauldron on the hearth. She would chat to me later, I knew, when we sat together watching the fire. This was our sacred time of day. That was a few hours away though.

Annoyed, miffed, disgruntled, I jumped up onto the windowsill and curled up in a sunbeam, burying my nose in my tail. A nap would cheer me up.

Breathing in and out, I soon fell into the rhythm of sleep.

To my delight I dreamed again of my family. Mother was holding one of my tabby-brothers down with one paw and washing his ears, ignoring his muffled complaints. The rest lay sunning themselves in a comfortable pile. The light danced around us. I cuddled up next to one of my sisters, who purred at my arrival. She was not all black fur like me, she had three white socks and a mark on her chest. My brother, rotund and stripey, continued to grumble.

Could I talk to my family in my dreams? I had never tried, but why not?

I asked: “Mama, why are the other creatures so dull?”

She looked up from my attending to my brother, her tongue slightly out as she pondered my question.

“Not everyone is Awake,” she said, eventually.

“What does that mean?” A tabby-sister asked. “I am awake right now!”

“Are you sure?” Mama’s eyes twinkled, half-lidded and she nudged my sister with her nose. “Are you Awake or are you Dreaming?”

She purred at our confusion, chuckled, then licked the top of our heads one by one before continuing. “What it means is you can sense the universe moving. It means you live in the beautiful now, aware, clever, capable of greatness, of great things. It means you can learn to manipulate the world’s energy, to bend it to your will, to channel it, to feed it around your souls.”

We all digested this in silence. It sounded quite nice but-

“But what is it?” I asked.

“I call it qi,” Mama replied. “And it is everything. The life force that flows through you. And you and you.” She nudged each of us in turn. “And not just in you, qi is in everything. In every creature, great and small, those Awake and those asleep, in every spirit, in every blade of grass. In every rock, in the fresh wind, in the earth, and shade and sky.”

“But not everyone can sense it?”

“They cannot.”

“Can you sense it?” asked a tabby sister.

“Yes,” Mamma laughed. “Of course. That is how I am able to gather your minds to me now, even though our bodies are apart.”

“How do we know if we are sensing it?” I asked.

“At first you won’t. But there are things you can do.” My ears pricked up. “Most importantly… A well groomed cat is more likely to cultivate qi than an ill kept one.” She washed out my brother’s ear one more time.

“Hey!” he squealed.

“You must each be spotless,” murmured Mama, around a mouthful of his fur. “Each hair, each individual follicle must be cleansed. Every whisker must be sparkling clean. Not a fleck of dirt, not a speck of dust should mar your coat. When you are finished your fur will shine like stars on a still night- as bright as pure moonlight on a millpond.”

“And then?” I asked eagerly.

“And then, my darling, you start to purify the rest of your body.”