The morning sun tiptoed across the floor, coaxing me awake.
I blinked away the remnants of dreams
—a castle in the clouds, a dragon’s breath—and sat up. The room yawned, its corners still cloaked in
shadows. But the window beckoned, its glass a portal to the waking world.
I shuffled toward it, barefoot on cool tiles. The latch yielded with a soft click, and there it was—the
view that had greeted me every morning since childhood. Our little house perched on the edge of
the forest, and beyond the garden fence, the trees whispered secrets.
As I leaned against the windowsill, the glass cool against my cheek, I noticed movement—a flicker of
fur. A stray cat sat there, eyes wide and green, as if it had been waiting for me. Its coat was a
patchwork of grays and browns, and its tail twitched like a metronome.
“Hello,” I whispered, not wanting to startle it. The cat tilted its head, assessing me. Perhaps it sensed
that I, too, was a wanderer—a soul seeking something beyond the mundane.
I stepped back, leaving the window open. The cat hesitated, then hopped onto the sill. It had a
crooked ear, evidence of battles fought and nights spent under moonlight. We regarded each other—
an unspoken pact forming between us.
“Come,” I said, and the cat followed as I padded down the stairs. Outside, the morning was alive—
the grass dew-kissed, the air crisp. The forest loomed, its ancient trees guardians of forgotten stories.
The cat weaved around my ankles, a silent companion.
Together, we ventured deeper. Sunlight filtered through leaves, dappling the path. The cat led, its
paws sure, as if it knew this terrain intimately. We crossed a babbling brook, and I marveled at how it
mirrored the sky—a liquid mirror reflecting both earth and heaven.
“Why are you here?” I asked the cat, though I knew it wouldn’t answer. Yet, in its eyes, I glimpsed
understanding—a shared solitude. Perhaps it sought refuge, just as I did—a respite from the noise of
the world.
We reached a clearing—a sacred space where sunlight pooled. The cat settled on a mossy rock, and I
sat beside it. Birds sang—a morning chorus—and the forest held its breath. I closed my eyes, feeling
the earth’s heartbeat.
When I opened them, the cat was gone. Had it been real, or a figment of dawn’s imagination? But
then I noticed the sunlight—a patch of warmth on the rock. And there, etched in dew, were tiny paw
prints.
The stray had left its mark—a reminder that sometimes companionship arrives unbidden, like
whispers at the window. I smiled, grateful for this silent communion. The forest held its secrets, and
I, too, would keep mine.
And so, I returned home, leaving the window open. The stray might come again, or perhaps it would
find another soul to follow. But in that perfect morning, we had shared a quiet understanding—a
bond woven between two wanderers.
And that’s how the stray cat became my dawn companion, leaving paw prints on my heart.
