The Game and The Leaves

Curled beneath the roots of an unfathomable tree lay the cat, silent, serene—content. Where some creature might find solace in a high place or a dark place or a place enclosed, the cat found her comfort among the fallen leaves, from high above. Where she could nestle in and her warmth would stay.

She purred. It was an instinctual, a primal sound which let the whole world know how she felt. It also conveyed a threat, violence upon any who would disturb her from sleep. A tail curled about her tiny mackerel frame, the soft fur like a blanket. Her forepaws were wrapped about the tail, pulling it into a neat embrace, beckoning her own warmth closer.

It was so that the field mouse darted past and, in her state she scarce noticed him. But, to a cat, a scarce notice was like a siren and she idly lifted her head to stare at the fleeing creature. With a big yawn and a powerful stretch, she rose sinuously and moved forth fluidly.

Her movement was like silk and as silent as the night, yet the sun beat down its gentle warmth to light the way. As the mouse scurried its way with all haste, the cat seemed to move almost lazily. It would not be so for long as, like a coiled spring, the cat leapt forth with the speed of a passing breeze and the mouse was in her grasp.

She was equipped for the hunt, even for the pleasure, as she sank her claws deep into the flesh of the mouse. He tried to squirm from her grasp and, for a moment, tasted freedom but, to her, it was a game and he was soon ensnared once more. This game continued for a short time before she grew tired of his attempts to flee and with a quick bite to the throat, his life was extinguished.

Lazily, she carried her prize back to her shaded patch among the leaves and feasted before returning to her contented slumber.