In the peculiar bends of an alternate universe much like our own, but with shadows that whispered and walls that watched, lived Kita. She was a poet, a singer, and above all, a mother to three bright-eyed daughters. Her life was a patchwork of verses, medical appointments for her dysautonomia, and the laughter of her children. But beneath the façade of normalcy, Kita harbored a secret talent – she could understand the silent language of cats. And Theodore, a tabby with eyes like storm clouds, was her closest confidant.
One evening, as the twilight crooned and the house settled into its nightly creaks, Theodore began to act out of sorts. He would stare intently at corners of the room, his tail flicking in agitation. Kita, using her unique gift, listened to his soft murmurs and felt a chill dance down her spine. Theodore was haunted, haunted by a cat from the future. A specter with knowledge beyond their time.
The next few days were a symphony of bizarre. Theodore would leap into the air as if chasing invisible butterflies or hiss at empty spaces. Kita’s daughters found amusement in the oddities, not feeling the eerie undercurrent that plucked at their mother’s senses. Kita, with a sarcastic quip, would often lighten the mood. “Ah, Theodore, courting ghostly felines now? What a Casanova!” But her laughter never quite reached her eyes.
Amidst this, Kita’s poetry began to intertwine with the supernatural. Verses spilled from her lips, not just in metaphor but in communication with the beyond. In a séance sparked by whimsy and desperation, she sat, a ring of salt around her, Theodore in her lap, reaching out to the ghost cat. The air grew dense, the shadows stretched, and a voice like the rustling of dry leaves filled the room. It was a warning, a premonition of a disaster that only Kita and Theodore could avert.
They worked together, Kita’s words weaving protection, and Theodore’s spectral insights guiding their path. It was a curious sight, a poet and a haunted cat, standing against a tide only they could see, their actions laced with absurdity. Light bulbs would flicker as they passed, and Kita would hum a tune, her sarcasm cutting through the tension. “Oh, the things I do for poetry and cats.”
The climax of their adventure was a whirlwind. Theodore, with eyes aglow, and Kita, with voice steady, faced the shadow of the future. They chanted, they pled, and with a crescendo, the threat dissolved, a catastrophe undone.
Life returned to its peculiar version of normal. Kita’s daughters, having caught a glimpse of the final confrontation, were a mix of thrilled and amused. They saw their mother, not just as the woman who made them sandwiches or sang lullabies but as a guardian of their haunted realm.
And Kita? She continued her poetry, her voice now carrying the weight of secrets only a cat whisperer could know. She and Theodore shared a bond unbreakable, their days filled with a new understanding of the world’s whimsy.
As our tale closes, we leave Kita writing a new poem, her daughters playing in the background, and Theodore, ever watchful, a silent sentinel by her side. The last lines she writes before turning in for the night bring a smile to her face:
“In a world where cats converse and specters stroll,
We find our truth in the absurd,
For even in a universe so oddly unfurled,
The strangest stories are the ones that need to be heard.”
And with a final chuckle at the peculiar whims of her life, Kita turns off the light, the echo of her laughter mingling with the soft purring of her extraordinary companion.
© Eric Montgomery, 29-February-2024