Cat Fables ~ Three Golden Wishes

Second in a series of feline tales ~ of prediction, dreams, truths, fantasy and resolution.

It was past the time the clock strikes midnight, somewhere early morn. I knew that time, the dark still, the deep shadows, the clinking echo of a tree branch. Further from familiar surroundings, she was there in the mist, waiting ~ riding a white tiger. She was not of name or color, but her eyes were majestic. Her presence was beckoning. I followed the cat into the dimness.

There was no sound, only hush, eager musing, anticipation and sweet morning glory. She did not let me in on her secrets, and would not till she was ready. Her bejeweled scepter piercing the night, "I have came to bestow on you three golden wishes," she whispered. Time was endless. All I had to do was choose.

We drifted along the drape of the willow, a tangle of vines, breaking free, the velvet dark, a soft glow of moonlight.

My first wish was to go with her, to know her wisdom, her enchantment, the mysteries of other worlds. We traveled through the glacial country. Translucent ice draped above us, as we were warmed by our beating heart.

My second wish was to have a "pure heart." A pure heart to love and be loved, to forgive and to be forgiven. To be as her, to seek lofty endeavors, and be as the mist. And there live, beyond the song of the night.

There was no measure of time. Forever elapsed in the blink of an eye. Urgency was a cloak, as my third wish was near. Visions of no suffering for the troubled, the sick and dispaired, for humankind, for her kind, veiled my face.

Loved ones' images, whispering voices on the dew, drifted on the still of forever. With the flicker of choice, I could tell them the sentiment, seize the missed opportunities of yesterday. Dare mortals to ask, "Bring them back."

For a third wish, I might brashly ask to be bestowed, all the sonnets, I had never written. I could tell the stories I have not told, the songs yet to be sung. The cat wrapped in a silken glow, glides further away.

I follow the feline without destination, without recall. There is no sound, no meows of expression, only the dew kissed grass. It is time for my third wish.

Something is different. It is light and hazy, then clear and familiar. The sounds of secrecy take form of a familiar presence. There is reason and intention,

Genteel illusions, the cat is gone. She never graces the earth, and bestows only the aura of her spirit. Beguiling, somewhere, she mocks me, The night is never long, nor does the feline linger for three golden wishes.

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