A Magic Cat and a Bushy Tree

I'm not sure why I remember my black cat. It has been fourteen years since I last saw him alive. My mom thought that having a fluffy kitten around would be wonderful, and because she is very unoriginal she named the coal black kitty Blacky.

It took Blacky around two months to decide that he didn't want to be around the house. My brothers were cruel and my mom started to say that the family cat was feral, no good. At six years old I didn't really understand what my mom meant. Blacky was wild, he was free. Blacky was everything that I wanted to be, and even though he ran away from all my family, he loved me. I would spend my free time out in the woods. At three o'clock he would meet me in the space under a low bushy tree in the woods and we would talk. I would rub his head and ask him what fights had caused his new wounds. I knew he had won. He was so strong.

At night Blacky was not there. He was free and safe, roaming the woods and fields. I would lie in my bed and wait to see if I would hear the slow footsteps coming towards my room. If they didn't come, I would fall asleep to peaceful dreams, but most nights they did come. They brought a monster. I was always afraid and I wanted to run, like Blacky did from my brothers. I would think of my wild cat. He was so brave. He loved me. He would keep me safe if he could.

One night the monster came and as I lay there thinking of my wonderful cat, suddenly I was there with him. My bed was gone and I was transported to the tree. The clear night sky was full of a thousand stars. I leaned back against the trunk of the tree as a gentle breeze brushed my hair away from my face. My cat was magical.

For the next year I could escape every night when I heard the monster coming into my room. I wasn't afraid because I had the cat and the tree and a perfect starry sky. I had almost forgotten what the monster was like. I had forgotten how he would hurt me, but he didn't like to be forgotten. One day he reminded me. He said the cat was no good and that it was worthless. I tried to tell him Blacky wasn't worthless. I tried to tell him I loved the cat. I tried to make him stop, but I was too little. I wished that I was strong and brave like my cat. The monster grabbed the shotgun and a piece of meat. He tempted my magical cat to the house with the promise of food, and then shot it. I watched a pool of red form. My cat was dead. I knew I would die soon, that night when the monster came, and I had no magical cat to protect me. No cat to whisk me away to the tree. That night, I lay in bed, hugging my arms close. The footsteps were coming and I had nowhere to run.

I heard my door creaking open. I squeezed my eyes tight as tears slide out. I whimpered my cat’s name. Then I heard a soft rustle. There was something in my bed that was jamming into my back, like a twig. I imagined that there was a gentle purring beside my ear. I could feel the breeze. I opened my eyes wide. I was there. I was under the tree. I was looking up into a perfect starry sky. And he was there: my wonderful, wild cat; my strong, brave cat; my magical Blacky. The monster wasn't about to truly kill my wild, brave cat. He would always be there to keep me safe.