Windowsill by Lyssa (essential reading .txt) 📕

Lydia, the youngest female of the house, always cringed when she heard the thunder. I, however, only twist my ears to gather the full effect.
After eight lives, a cat like me was used to these things. I loved the rain, and as I sit on my windowsill I wonder who else might love the rain.
It certainly wasn't Mr. Gregory, the mean old man with his mangy mutt—I'm grateful dogs only get one life. It means I won't have the chance to meet him in my next life.
My last life.
Strange...I had never thought of it that way; as I look at the sheets of water released from the clouds, I can't help but recollect the first time I came into this world.
My first mother...I never had a father in any of my lives..my first siblings...and the first time I scented a queen in heat.
Things like lives go by so quickly—at least to me. You know, not all cats are born at the same level of experience. In my first life, one of my sisters helped me to learn many things. She, unfortunately, was already on her last life.
I can't help but wonder where we cats go after we've lived our last life. I still have one life left to live after this one, but it comes upon me inevitably.
Another rumble of thunder, this time farther. I sighed, lamenting the impending doom of the rainstorm before me.
I had long ago wanted to be a rainstorm. They have an infinite number of lives to live, and they sacrifice all they have, in a way, to allow other things to live, too.
Outside, in the dim light caused by the heavy rain, I spotted a female. She looked older than I sensed. Her fur matted, her whiskers tangled, and her once-emerald eyes dimmed by hunger and hurt, she looked up at me, through the window. She meowed, as if to say bitterly, "Yes, you keep your vigil on your warm windowsill, while I suffer down here, in the cold and wet."
She left, and I found it was a pity that she had had that kind of life. I think it was her first, too.
Still, being the old tom that I was, I couldn't help but scent her

heat. Unable to deny the forces of nature—the very forces that granted me this body—I hopped off the windowsill and padded through the swinging door.

I caught up with her, later, when the rainstorm had lightened to a genteel patter. I saw another tom, a twice-lived tom, approaching her and I hissed, catching her attention, and that of the rival. He knew immediately my lives and he backed away and ran.
Knowing what needed to be done, she accepted me, and as the rain fell on my fur, I realized that she was warm from my body, mostly dry.
"Let me take you to my windowsill, where it's nice and dry," I whispered in her ear.
"Humans hate me," she replied.
"Some humans are like that," I said, refusing to move, refusing to let the cold seep back into her tattered fur. "My humans aren't. They'll take good care of you, and your kittens."
I knew she thought about it, because she was still. After a moment that seemed like forever, she said, "I'll come with you only if you promise to protect me. You know, should the humans not be what they are to you."
I backed away and nodded. "I promise. Follow me."

It wasn't long before the female was convinced my humans were genuine. I could hear her purr—a sensuous sound, pleasing to all ears and much louder than mine. They gently untangled her whiskers and brushed her fur after cleaning her with a warm, damp towel.
When the children and their parents went to bed that night, I invited the female to my windowsill. It still rained, and I reveled in the soothing sound.
"Do you know where you'll go when you live your last life?" she asked, her emerald eyes shining with well-fed warmth and happiness.
I looked into those eyes. "No, and I'd rather not think about it at the moment," I said, and rested my head on my paws.
I heard the scrape of her claws on the windowsill as she curled her paw. I looked up and saw her looking up at the sky, ears back as she thought. "I hope we are resurrected as rainstorms," she whispered.
"Really?" I said. "Are we resurrected?"
She looked to me and gave me a little grin. "Who knows? Perhaps our longevity can only reach so far in a feline form, and so when the ninth life passes us, we become the eternal storm."
I blinked in astonishment. Long after she'd rested her head on her paws, I stared at her. Maybe we were

rainstorms, bound by the trials of nature to prove we are worthy to sacrifice our life every day for the likes of the world.
Yes...I could live with that. I curled the corner of my lips upward and rested my head on my paw, content.
Sadly, when I awoke the next morning, the female was gone, in her place a single daisy with the morning dew still fresh on its petals.
A cat's life is a little deeper than some would expect. I flicked an ear back as I gently lowered my head to the petal and stuck my tongue out a bit to taste the life given to the earth.
Perhaps...perhaps even the life from a kind of kindred soul.

Publication Date: 10-02-2009

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Dedication:
To my cat, Da Vinci, and his little animal ways.