Work Text:
They watched from afar. It wasn’t stalking, just quiet observation.
They first noticed the cat while sitting at their desk. With no clue on what to sketch on their blank paper, they stared out the window, hoping for a glimpse of inspiration. The forest was still and quiet, beautiful and quiet except for the trill of birdsong and the quiet splashing of the creek.
It was the same view for nearly their entire life. The same towering trees, the thriving foliage, the burbling stream just a few hundred feet in front of their cabin.
Until it wasn’t.
The cat first strolled in from the surrounding bushes, tail held high and confident. Like he belonged there. And maybe he did, maybe he had been living there long before they had arrived and built their house up from nothing.
But it was new for them, and they felt the tiny flame of inspiration spark in their chest. Taking another quick glance at the feline, they looked down at their paper and began sketching.
First the head, then the body, then the…oh. The cat had moved from its upright position to lay out on the ground, grooming the fur on his flank. Relaxed and unaware of their presence. His tail flicked contentedly as he stretched to catch the last rays of warm sunlight filtering through the leaves. Position ever changing, like the water in the river. Never still.
After what felt like hours, they looked down at their paper again. It was frayed and smudged from where they had erased over and over, trying to catch water in a still image. The cat was still there, completely unaware of the eyes observing his every move.
As evening fell over the forest, a sudden movement startled them. The cat had gotten up, stretched, and walked back toward the foliage that he had first appeared out of. A cool breeze rushed in through the open windows, signaling the chill of night time.
Despairingly, they placed down their pencil and stared at the half-finished work. It didn’t look as good as they hoped it would, the head too blocky and pose too stiff. Sighing deeply, they accepted the fact that they may never see the cat again, and rolled up the scuffed paper. They weren’t sure why they were so obsessed with it. It was just a cat, a simple, black-furred, yellow-eyed cat.
As they lay in bed, they tried to convince themself to let go of the heavy feeling, but it persisted, even as they drifted off to sleep.
The next afternoon, as they were weaving twine around another glass orb, they saw him again. The same cat, with yellow eyes and black fur. He had strolled out of the underbrush again and was currently drinking water from the stream.
They rushed over to their desk, pulling out the paper from yesterday. Hopefully, they could fix their mistakes from yesterday before evening fell again.
Over the next few weeks, they made hundreds of portraits of the same cat. Sitting, laying down, drinking water, you name it. Then, they began to carve. Using each piece as reference, they painstakingly carved out every hair, every position. It took many long months for each one, but it was worth it.
It made them happy to see the cat acknowledge and rub up against every one of their pieces. Slowly, the number grew from one, to three, to cats all over the front of their house. Even as the wood weakened and rotted away, they would remake them by hand.
At that point, their windowsill was lined with tiny carvings of cats as well, adding another touch of personality to their cabin. They felt a deep connection to that cat, probably because it represented the freedom they had all to themself, in the woods.
Many years after they first saw the feline, they decided to undertake their biggest project yet. Carving an enormous cat into the nearby hillside. It was probably a major obsession at that point, but they didn’t care. There was nobody in the woods to judge them or call them mad, except the local wild dogs.
Carving out the hillside was hard work, and they were sometimes tired of working on the same labor-intensive project all day. Sometimes, the temptation of returning home and carving out some miniature cats was a better idea.
Over time, though, all the work added up, and the head began to take shape, then the body, and the legs. It was years later that they finished, looking up at their Opus Magnum, their masterpiece.
They hoped the cat liked this sculpture.
Even as they grew older and more mature, they would sit in front of their window, like they would all those years ago. Watching the cat appear, greet the sculptures and lay down to sleep. It was nostalgic, to know that even if they changed, this routine would still remain the same.
They hoped they could be a cat in their next life.