Hello Adm Fam!
Today, I have a new short story to share with you! As always, this one is also an original work. This time, we walk the paw prints of a traveling cat.
He usually begins from the mountains, leisurely making his way down the terrain on an early morning. His already lustrous chocolate colored fur fostered an even warmer start of the day. He appears with nothing more than his wicker basket to accompany him. He's an expert, as he has traveled the path many times before. In the span of a handful of hours, he will be at its base, having faced no difficulty. Taking only a few minutes to admire everything ahead of him. And what a view it is.
The air is comfortable and fresh. The sun stretches over the village below. Birds sing and flap their wings through the endless blue sky.
The journey continues as the cat extends his body, takes back the handle of his little basket, and, before long, enters the village itself. The real sense of adventure abounds here as the cat walks the cobbled stones and green grasses. No less apparent than the time down the mountain, that he has mastered the map. Around one house, through a vegetable garden, out the other side near a few workmen carrying boxes and other furniture. The four-legged friend remains undistracted by most of the noises and voices. Even those reacting to the sight of him, or the small steps of the giggling children pointing fingers at his back or shadowing him down the street who eventually go their own way.
It is only at the glimpse of an old wire cage tossed out a wooden door that he jumps, startled, and nearly drops his basket. A chorus of clinking sounds can be heard during the sudden jerk of the basket. It was later explained that a couple of years ago, a few older children captured him while he was on a similar journey. They stuck him inside an old wire cage and kept him overnight. It was the uproar of the adults who had gotten used to his routine that stirred a search. They hoped nothing had happened to him as they called around and set out treats for him at their doors.
Feeling the pressure of their secret several hours into the next day, quite possibly never having imagined that just one cat who was surely not the only village stray could rattle them up so easily, three young boys came forward. They guiltily pulled the sheet from the rusted crate to reveal the little guy curled up inside, wrapped around his basket. They had not harmed him, they assured. And when he first went in, they'd given him fried fish. A treat which remained untouched beside him. The troublemakers were reprimanded by their parents and many elderly in the village who then set him free.
The moment the lock was released, the cat leaped to freedom with his basket hung around his neck. In a rush, many would recall, as if pressed for time. As if he had known he was many, many hours behind for his travels to somewhere else. It could have been the sudden crash of the cage that scared him, or maybe it was the memory of his capture that chased him down the street.
Some time later, after the novelty of the cage battle wore off, the bright-eyed feline settled back into the calm of his expedition and made several stops along the way. The first was to a house with metal trinkets near the gate. The dangling pieces made soft sounds as the cat walked through, turned around, and stuck its face back out to pull the basket in with him. The thin ornaments twirled in on themselves as he disappeared. Minutes later, the voice of a woman happily welcomed him on the other side, and soon enough, he was back in the street.
On the way to the next, two families waved and loudly cheered the cat on from their wobbling sailboats in the water. The cat paused, gave them an almost proud nod, and ventured forward. His soft paws left their mark in the wet soil. Almost a signature of his fame left behind for everyone else to enjoy. His step soon dried, and any remaining dirt became only small, unnoticeable crumbs left somewhere far behind as the cat slowed to a stop near an old newspaper stand.
A stout young man with a missing leg supported by a crutch walked around the side, lowered himself to the ground, and sat in front of the basket. He grinned as he took the cat up in his arms. With a warm meow, the man's tender affection was welcomed, and the cat rubbed his neck across bearded cheeks. The two sat for a time after their greeting and snacked on dried meat while winged insects passed them by. Then, when the cat sauntered down, out of the man's sturdy arms and back to the ground, the paper seller reached into the basket, pulled out a small brown glass jar, and thanked him as he reached for his crutch.
So the cat went away again. Waved off by his friend and set for his next stop in the middle of the village. To the rear of Sweet's Bakery where a young pair of girls quickly ran inside and returned with the tanned old man that owned the shop. Led at either side by the bow-haired duo, the man shuffled out and placed a large bowl of warm milk on the ground. Then, not unlike the last, he also removed a jar from the wicker basket and tapped the cat's head.
When the bowl was licked clean to the very last drop, the pleasant sugary scent was abandoned for the most important destination of his trip. Through many more streets, to the hillside, beyond the clearing near the village, to a breathtaking blooming ground. The buds and petals fluttered as a cool wind swept through them.
It seemed a long time the cat stood still there with an almost vacant look in his eyes. His tail dropped to the ground and his shoulders hung low as he faced the light. The feeling was so distinct that the beautiful sight took on a wistful turn in no time at all. It was there, surrounded by a saddening beauty that the cat laid down with a long sigh to sleep. And when the sun slowly warmed the place again the day after, the cat slowly took up the handle of its basket and turned back for a long trek home. This time, without his brief pauses or deliveries. Back to the hills, back through the clearing, and many, many streets. Over cobblestones, pebbles, grass, and wet or dry earth. Back high above the entire village and over the top of the mountain. Returned to a lopsided house on its opposite side that one would need to search for to find.
There, awaited an explanation of the cat's motives. Evidently, he was not a stray.
A blind man with a soft smile and silvery hair opened the door to welcome him home. A full belly accompanied by the comfort of his fluffy bed beside the table seemed to relax all his tired limbs. With his body curled to the side, the cat blinked slowly as the man slid into a large wooden seat beside him. The cat, he said, was called Milkit.
He once belonged to a herbalist. The blind man's mother, who found him tucked away in an old tire on her way back home. He was a kitten, barely old enough to eat solid food on his own. Milkit's mother was likely the cat they'd found in the middle of the street several days earlier. His brave feline adventures first began with her.
She took him along in her basket so long as she wouldn't need to leave for one of the other nearby villages, letting him meet the children and feel at home. Milkit sometimes walked the area nearby and returned to step between the woman's feet. He was very active over the years and took to handing the small bottles out. The customers rewarded him with flavorful foods and endearment.
When his owner died, Milkit became depressed and after some time, that brewed a restlessness. One that they found could only be calmed by her old rounds through the town. When her once young and healthy son started to lose his eyesight, it became too difficult and dangerous to continue the way they had been. By stubbornness or ignorance, which the man did not know, Milkit loudly insisted on going out. Even to the point of taking the basket to the door every morning. He was no match for the chocolate cat and his steady, demanding eyes. Nor his loud unwavering hours of noise. The blind man decorated and sealed the empty jars, which would have been filled with medicine during his mother's life and nervously let him out.
Milkit was a cat, and cats normally roamed and chased mice or other prey in a village as easily as their ancestors did the wild, but his worry was for his safety. He did not want the cat to meet the same fate as the mother that birthed him. Once every seven days, Milkit expected the basket to be filled to some degree with the remedy jars as if it were his life's purpose.
With time, the two of them got used to the routine. As did the people in the village, apparently, who never minded the empty glasses nor watching for him year after year as he went. The herbalist's usual customers or their surviving family members received the empty gifts the most, although the cat had since begun to deviate from his pattern.
A story like that of Milkit, the village medicine cat, deserves to be told. As a once stranger to his home, his comings and goings were a mystery now fulfilled. Me? Well, I am just a human, a photographer touched by his existence like all the rest, who captured a few lasting moments from one such journey on film.
There's a board now, presented in Milkit and his family's honor. Publicly displayed on sunny days in the village green. Filled with notes and photographs detailing his life, the places, and some of the people he often visits. Last I heard, a rising artist in the village was submitting plans to build something permanent in his likeness and encase the board along with it.
And there you have it. I hope you were able to feel the tug of spring and smiled somewhere along Milkit's journey. If you can, find a beautiful scene of your own this year. Have a good spring everyone 🌷.
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