10. Sampson
A flash through the forest. Monochrome, brown on brown through autumn brush and over deep leaf litter, damp and rich with the smell of the endless cycle of decay, enrich, rebirth.
Eyes flashing in the half light. legs churning on silent paws. Feet that barely touch the ground. Up the steep hills. Pause, mark the path again. Across the water on old tree and rocks. No stopping. No rest. Rub against the oak. Smell a dead one. Redirect. Race the falling sun. Chase the rising moon. Dapple light, pale through bare trees.
Exhaustion creeping in from every limb, the tired ache of every joint run ragged. Hunger. Thirst. His belly clenching, throat raw, foot pads that seems to be splitting with pain. A wild leap across a ravine, just catching the far side and scrambling to the top. The mossy rock. A tree that smells like Garibaldi. Pride land. Just a little more. Familiar ground for his stumbling, automatic feet. There, the tall house.
Up the beam, through the fireplace, into the kitchen where he crashed bodily into the call bells, ringing every one in a discordant clang that meant one thing. Danger- come now to help and know.
Sampson stopped running and collapsed beside a water dish. He picked his head up a few scant inches and rested it on the side of the bowl, beginning to lap furiously at the cold, clear water, stopping only to let air gasp into his heaving chest. Nocta walked up to him and canted her head to one side. When Sampson seemed about to stand she stepped on his rear foot and he yowled in sudden agony, his eyes going wide as he looked at Nocta as if betrayed.
The ancient queen bent her head to his paw, and with her delicate teeth she extracted a long thorn and dropped it on the floor where Sampson could see it. He heaved a sigh and pillowed his head against the bowl again as he realized she was going back for more and some of the other old queens were coming toward him to help. Sudden memories of being a kitten, held down and cleaned by countless raspy tongues made him twitch.
When they finished, most of the Pride had arrived and Sampson just stared at the pile of forest bits that the old queens had pulled off or out of him. He had felt none of it while he ran. He felt every bit of it now. After a few tries, Sampson heaved himself up to sitting, surveying the cats around him. His eyes blinked slowly.
The conversation that followed can not be spoken of, for the language of the Pride is arcane, a mystery that is not for humans to know unless, like Nix, they are of the Pride. A head rubbed against some symbols drawn low on the wall were involved and then the matter seemed settled. As one, the Pride turned and scattered, each to its own chores. There was work to do and it must be done quickly and done correctly the first time.
Sampson stood and stretched, then began to take a step toward... nothing. He was laying on the floor again and Nocta stood above him with her paw raised, daring him to try it. He growled low. Nocta looked unimpressed and groomed her paw. He began to rise again and this time the blow came from behind. The queens stood around him, one having just finished nosing a bowl of food to the space in front of Sampson's face. He growled. Nocta growled right back. Sampson's stomach growled. He stopped fighting and ate his fill.
When he finished, they brought him more water and this time he did not fight them. He drank quietly. Looking Nocta in the eye, he slowly attempted to rise. This time the cuff came at the side of his head and he slowly laid back down on the floor. Sampson drew in his legs, wrapped his tail and tucked his nose into a compact ball of cat. Nocta climbed atop him and curled into the same shape and began to purr contentedly. Sampson's eyes flashed for a moment and then the feeling of being warm, and full and watered and not running washed over him. The other old queens curled up around him, their bodies warming his aches, their old feet kneading his exhausted body and their purring waking the purr within Sampson.
Within a moment, he slept.
The old queens looked to each other and wondered how many others of the kittens they had nursed and raised and taught would need such care after this night. They watched the cats running about their chores, remembering each as the tumbling kitten that they had loved.
The old queens let no one wake Sampson just yet. It would be at least an hour yet before the leaving would begin and their darling but monstrous big tabby son of the whole Pride would rest until then. They each loved him as a kitten of their own body and thus, were always doubly hard on him. Cats, as humans, do have some things in common
11. How to Plan a Market Day Party
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