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It was a dark and stormy night, and the cat knew all too well what would come next. She hid under a pile of reeds and watched the humans rush around frantically, trying to defend against the storm. Soon, these fields would be full of water rather than tempting mice.
Rain dripped through the reeds and trickled through her fur. She shivered and mewled, but no one came to fetch her. Not anymore.
The rain fell harder, and she dashed out from under the reeds and hopped into a cart. She settled on a few wildcat pelts, and for a moment she struck a majestic pose, trying to feel the strength of her ancestors, to draw on it as she set out for a new home.
The cart rolled forward, wheels sloshing through puddles as humans urged the oxen on despite the storm. With an early start, they should reach the city in time for good trading. Humans certainly talked about such things enough, constantly discussing the best way to do things.
Weary, the cat settled down on the pelts and closed her eyes. Whether the humans had success in their trades mattered very little to her, but the earlier they arrived at the city, the better. It would give her more time to seek shelter before night fell again. A must, if she was to survive the ongoing storms.
Last rainy season had nearly killed her. She’d been so young then, unused to the ways of the world, and the sudden treachery of the river had caught her off guard.
This year, she wouldn’t make that mistake. Enough of the farm life for her, with its seasonal flooding. Perhaps life in the city would be more stable.
Or it might not. She’d spoken to other cats from the city, ones that had left that life for the reeds and rushes of the flood plains between the rivers. They warned that not all humans were kind, and that many humans got hysterical about perfectly normal cat behaviors.
Oh well. If the humans decided that her hunting in a particular spot was a bad omen, so be it. It would be better than drowning when the waters overflowed.
She licked at a particularly damp spot on her white fur, then snuggled back down for the long ride to Uruk.
---
Aradlugal should have been working. Dawn turned to late morning, and he finally forced himself to choke down bread that his brother had brought him yesterday evening. He washed the bread down with beer, and sat at his work table.
He sighed heavily and turned his cylinder seal over in his hands again. The seal was less than half the length of his little finger, elegantly carved from red-orange carnelian, sporting a battle scene. Not a battle between city-states, though. A battle between cats and mice.
Blinking away tears, he smoothed out the cord and hung the seal around his neck again. He couldn’t keep going on like this. Sooner or later, he had to get back to work. Even if he didn’t have a workshop cat anymore.
Aradlugal failed at blinking away the next set of tears. He wiped his cheeks, sniffled, and picked up the necklace he’d started last month and neglected ever since.
In some ways, working again was a balm. He lost himself to the familiar rhythms of creation. Shaping clay beads to fire later, stringing others that were already finished, etching the carnelian beads that had been waiting for decoration for weeks.
His customers would be pleased, at least. But although vague satisfaction swept through him every time he finished a piece…
It still all seemed pointless, without someone to share his pieces with. Without the constant laughing struggle against his furry companion. Irrara had always liked batting beads off the table, then chasing them around.
Aradlugal gave up on the jewelry around midday and went to lie down on the reed mat where he usually slept. He didn’t sleep now, though, just stared at the ceiling.
He was still staring at the ceiling when the door swung open. Familiar footsteps thumped across the floor, and his younger brother’s face loomed above him.
Eluti frowned down. “You’re not working again?”
“I did this morning.” Aradlugal closed his eyes, not wanting to see the ever present worry. “And yes, I know I’m being silly, it was just a cat…”
He teared up again and was even more glad he’d closed his eyes.
Eluti sighed heavily. “I don’t think you’re being completely silly, but you can’t lie around for the rest of your life. What about a new cat? Do you know how many of them hang around the temple district? I saw a handsome black one earlier. He’d bring you good fortune.”
Eluti worked in Inanna's temple as a scribe, recording and cataloging donations to the goddess as well as helping compile omen tablets. He’d always been very practical, very responsible. And now, he was very determined to keep his big brother from laying around all day instead of working.
It wasn’t that Aradlugal wanted to avoid work. He liked his little shop. He liked creating jewelry, animal sculptures, carved amulets, all the little trinkets. But he liked it better when it had a cat.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve politely invited some of them to follow me home, but they haven’t been interested,” he said without opening his eyes. “The right one will turn up someday.”
That drew another heavy sigh from Eluti. “Very well. I’ve brought you some stew, and more bread. Aya says she hopes you come over for dinner soon. The children miss their uncle, you know.”
“I know. Soon.” Aradlugal kept his eyes closed, and Eluti’s footsteps finally stomped away. He’d given up, at least for now.
Eating would be a good idea. The savory aroma of fish stew filled the building, but Aradlugal stayed where he was. His appetite had deserted him.
Rain pattered down on the roof again, no longer just a light drizzle. It would be another stormy night.
---
For as long as possible, the cat had stayed curled up in the cart. But finally, when the humans found someone to buy their wares, she slipped out from under the woven reed cover and dashed down the crowded streets.
Even with the rain, the city brimmed with activity. She dodged through throngs of donkeys and sheep, farmers and traders. She evaded stray dogs, deftly slipping under carts as needed. A few city cats hissed at her, and she hissed back.
Before long, though, she hid under a parked cart and shivered. The rain fell harder and harder, puddling in the streets. And there were just so, so many streets! How was she ever to find a home in this maze? Maybe leaving the farm had been a mistake. At least there, she knew all the good hiding places, the best spots for mice. Here, she was lost.
She mewed and purred, but although a few people stopped to stroke her, they all hurried past without inviting her home. And she didn’t want to follow one of them on a whim. What if they had a dog, or small children who liked grabbing swishing tails? It wasn’t worth the risk.
But the rain drummed down even harder now, and thunder rumbled through the low clouds. By the time darkness fell in earnest, the inky cloak smothering the city, she still hadn’t found shelter. The cart she’d hidden under was taken away.
She wandered through the streets, crying in the hopes that someone would take her in. Rain drenched her fur, and her legs weakened. Like they had as she struggled in the floodwaters of the river, swept away…
Another meow greeted her, resonant and deep. She raised her head, and found herself face to face with a spirit.
He was larger than her, his face handsome and aged. The glow of the afterlife surrounded him. Humans believed in a dark afterlife underground, with little joy and many ashes, but cats had always known better. For them, the afterlife was full of sun without end and all the mice they could ever want.
The ghost nuzzled against her, purring, and the warmth of another realm’s sun flowed through her body. She breathed in deeply, rejuvenated.
He moved away and turned back to look at her, beckoning with his tail. She followed without question. Whoever this spirit was, he meant to help her.
She raced down muddy alleys after him and through a garden. The smell of rich, wet soil filled the air, the way it had back on the farm before the flooding started.
The ghost cat paused at a door and meowed at it, and the deep voice resonated in her chest. She pressed her own nose against the door, crying for help, borrowing strength and courage from the spirit who had come to save her.
After a few more yowls, the door wrenched open. A man stared down at her, his eyes wide. He didn’t seem to notice the spirit cat, who padded calmly inside and wove around and between his legs.
“Oh, you poor thing. You’re drenched!” The man’s voice was deep, but soft. He bent at once and scooped the cat up, cradling her to the warmth of a broad chest. “Shh, you’re safe now.”
The cat pressed to his warmth, fighting against the instinct to struggle in the tight hold. This man wouldn’t harm her; the glowing spirit cat still purred, following them into the home. This was a safe place.
“Let’s get you dried off, now.” The man sat on a reed mat and placed her in his lap. Her sodden fur dripped on his clothing, but he didn’t seem to mind the spreading wet patches. “Oh, thank the gods. I’ve been praying that someone like you would come along. This’ll show Eluti, eh?”
The cat had no idea who Eluti was, but she nuzzled into the big brown hand that stroked her wet cheek.
With a purring meow, the ghost cat stepped onto the reed mat beside them. He rubbed once more against the human, and blinked slowly at her. His glow brightened, then faded as he returned to the spirit realm, his final task complete.
She mewed her thanks even though he’d already gone, then settled down in the warm lap. Her strength was failing, muscles quivering with exhaustion. But even if she’d taxed herself too much, if the cold took her life, there would be warmth waiting for her on the other side.
---
Aradlugal’s hands shook as he tugged a length of thick wool cloth from under a stack of baked clay tablets. One of the tablets slid off and shattered, but that didn’t matter. If it was something important—business records, he thought—he’d just make a new copy later.
The cat shivered violently in his lap, her eyes closed now. Even in the flickering low light of the oil lamp, they’d looked green, the same green as Irrara’s eyes.
Aradlugal blinked away tears and gently rubbed the cat down with his cloth. She mewled weakly in protest. “I know, I know. You must be exhausted, but I promise this is important. If I don’t get you dry, you’ll…”
A lump in his throat choked his words. No. No, he wouldn’t let anything happen to this little creature. She was young, well fed under her sodden coat albeit very finely built. She would survive.
But his hands still shook as he dried her fur, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He had held Irrara to the last, weeping as he stroked his ancient cat, and weeping harder still as he dug a grave in the garden and laid his longtime companion to rest. It couldn’t happen again, not this soon. He wasn’t strong enough to bear it.
“I should give you a name, shouldn’t I?” Aradlugal said, as if somehow that would bind this poor thing to life. He thought for a while, still drying her fur. “I’m Aradlugal. I wonder if you had a name. Where did you come from, little one?”
Maybe the temple? Eluti kept mentioning the cats at the temple, trying to coax Aradlugal to replace Irrara. Well-meaning, but he hadn’t been ready.
“You don’t look like a temple cat to me,” Aradlugal decided. “I might have named you after a goddess if you had. I wish you could tell me whether you had a name already.”
The cat’s green eyes slitted open, studying him. She gave a faint meow that sounded negative.
“No name? Well, you need one now. Otherwise, when all my customers come flocking back to buy my newest amulets, they’ll all ask your name. And I’ll just have to tell them ‘Cat’!” Smiling, Aradlugal tickled her under the chin. She leaned into it. “Perhaps a material, something I work with? Quartz? Or a flower? Lily?”
The cat didn’t respond to any of those suggestions. Aradlugal carefully picked up her paws and dabbed each one dry, contemplating.
“You want a human name, then?” he asked, holding the cloth to a bloody scrape on one paw pad. She looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Yes, you certainly do.”
His mother’s name, perhaps? No, he’d never hear the end of it from Eluti if he did that, which also ruled out any aunts or cousins. Perhaps a customer? Or someone he’d known as a child?
“Ah, I know. Gemekala.” Aradlugal smiled as he remembered the old woman, wife to the jeweler who had trained him in this art. Gemekala had been a talented artisan in her own right, and had encouraged him when he was frustrated with his early work. “She was a wonderful, kind woman, always ready with words of hope. What do you think of that?”
For a moment, the cat just studied him. Then she nuzzled into his hand, purring weakly.
“Gemekala it is.” Sniffling, Aradlugal bent and kissed her damp head. “You’re going to be so happy here. You just need to be strong and hold on, okay?”
She settled back down, eyes closing.
---
It was a long night. Rain drummed down on the roof of the building, leaking into Gemekala’s dreams. The rushing floodwaters of last year sweeping her away, her desperate flailing, the cries for help that had finally been answered when a kind man plucked her out of the river.
The kind man—Mageshgetil—had warmed her too, just as new hands warmed and dried her now. She missed him. Humans were fragile things, and a sudden fever took him.
But the man tending to her now was kind as well. He dried her fur and wrapped her in a warm, thick cloth, and held her to his warm belly. Big hands stroked her, and he sang softly to her. When he wasn’t singing, he told her stories.
The singing and stories were less than helpful for sleep, but they soothed her. Her dreams were unpleasant anyway, full of raging waters and endless rain that drowned the world. Better to doze lightly and listen to tales of the city, and of Aradlugal’s beloved cat, Irrara.
Dazed by the chill and fatigue, Gemekala at first wondered where the other cat was. And then, as she half listened to the stories, things fell into place. Irrara was the spirit who had guided her here, to this welcoming home.
She rested even easier after that. There was nothing to be afraid of here, in a home that had treated Irrara so well.
Eventually, she fell into a deep, restful sleep. Some dreams still haunted her, of rain and raging waters, but it no longer terrified her as much. Perhaps she was just too tired.
Or perhaps it was due to the unfamiliar feeling of complete safety.
When Gemekala awoke, she wasn’t on a warm lap anymore. She lifted her head, irritated, and looked around. Surely the human hadn’t deserted her, after all his promises. She yowled in disapproval.
“I’m coming, little Gem. I’m coming.” The big human returned, holding a bowl. “Here, I’ve fetched you some milk.”
This wasn’t like the ugly, plain bowls that she’d seen most often on the farm. This one was etched with designs around the rim, animals that almost seemed to move in the flickering light.
Gemekala reached out a paw and tried to bat at the animals. Laughing, Aradlugal moved the bowl out of her reach. “Now, there will be plenty of time for that later. You need to drink this and get up your strength.”
She still wanted to swat the carved animals, but the milk smelled good. Still weak, she lowered her head and lapped at it.
“Well done. You’re making me a very happy man.” Gently, Aradlugal stroked down her back. “When you’ve regained more strength, I have some wonderful fish for you, too.”
Gemekala drank all the milk, then rubbed against Aradlugal’s hand and purred. He scooped her up, hugged her, lightly kissed her head.
And then he carried her over to a table. Sitting, he settled her on his lap. And then, humming, he began to work on something. He picked up tiny objects, putting them on a string.
She eyed the small moving parts, curious. Then she reached up, batting at a small red ball. It rolled off the table and vanished under the stool.
Aradlugal made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You really are going to be right at home here, Gemekala.”
Already, she felt entirely at home. Pleased with herself for making her new human happy, she settled down on the warm lap to rest and recover her strength.
Later, she would be sure to eat the promised fish. In no time, she would be full of energy, able to knock things off the table all day.
---
As Aradlugal worked, he hummed to himself. Each piece of jewelry he worked on seemed full of meaning again. Every clay bead pierced and prepared for firing, every set of beads strung, every amulet carved. After all, he had another mouth to feed now. Only the best food for his Gemekala.
From time to time, he paused in his work to fuss over her. She gobbled up the fish, which he’d cut into small, easy to chew chunks. She eagerly played with a cord when he dangled it in front of her, every swipe of claws seeming stronger than the one before. Such a resilient little thing, to bounce back so quickly after that terrible chill.
Aradlugal paused in his work to brush her fur with a fine bone comb that he’d made for Irrara. Which, of course, was when his door opened.
“At your work table today?” Eluti asked, familiar worried impatience in his voice. “It’s good to see you doing something at last. Although I notice you aren’t— Aradlugal, what is that?”
Smiling, Aradlugal looked up at his brother. “It’s a cat.”
“I can see it’s a cat.” Eluti studied the still-bedraggled feline with a frown. “It’s white.”
“Yes, isn’t she stunning?” Reverently, Aradlugal combed some tangled fur on her side. She swatted his hand, claws sheathed, and he chuckled as he stroked her head. “So much spirit already. Poor thing was drenched yesterday, but she’s a fighter.”
“Aradlugal!” Eluti waved his arms, trying to get his attention. Aradlugal ignored him. “A white cat in the home is a bad omen. I should know. I work at the temple.”
Although Aradlugal managed not to roll his eyes, he did sigh. Then he put on a broad smile and turned it on his brother. “Then it’s a very good thing that this is my workshop, not my home.”
“That’s not a good argument.”
Gemekala looked up at Eluti and hissed, apparently noting his disapproval.
“Now you’re being rude,” Aradlugal said to them both. “Eluti, be happy for me. I’m happy again, for the first time in a month.”
Still with a disapproving expression, Eluti eyed the cat. Then he nodded, softening. “You are happy, and I’m glad of it. Does that mean we can expect your company again soon?”
“No, not too soon.” Aradlugal dangled a string of beads in front of Gemekala, and she attacked it with gusto. “I have a cat to nurse back to health first.”
He managed to hold in his laughter until Eluti left. Then he let it escape, joy flooding him. This white cat would bring him only good luck and happiness, just as she already had.
“I’m glad you found me,” he said, stroking her cheek. She rubbed her face against his hand, vibrating with enthusiastic purrs. “I needed you as much as you needed me.”
Cheerful, Aradlugal went back to work them. But often, he stopped to play with his new cat. Gemekala rolled over to have her belly petted, and their home rang with the melody of purring and laughter.