The Cat That Made Nothing Something Again Page 2

  or hard things to bear.

  No one to love,

  other than me.

  No friends to hug,

  just fun and glee.

  Nothing holding me back,

  nor things to pack.

  I’m always free,

  It’s all a game to me.”

  Chapter 5

  His stomach started to growl like a hungry dog. The nameless cat wasn’t used to going so long without eating. The seed he devoured earlier wasn’t enough to even fill a mouse.

  A mouse, thought the cat, now that would be a good meal.

  As if in answer, he heard a cheerful chirping in the distance. His ears perked up, and he sniffed at the air. He followed his nose and ears for several minutes until he came upon a large tree. It was dark and gloomy, but high up in its branches was a little bird.

  Not too little to make for a good meal, thought the cat. Or at least an appetizer to hold me over for awhile.

  He poised himself for a pounce, swished his tail, and then lunged forward. His feet left the ground and he grabbed at the bark of the tree. To his unpleasant surprise he found he wasn’t able to hold his grip, and he slid back down to the ground, landing on his rump. The cat was quickly back on his feet—for a feline should never been seen without its composure—but it was too late. The bird stopped chirping and stared at him with small, beady eyes.

  The cat’s ears lay back, indignant, and a scowl formed across his face. How could a tree have gotten the better of him? He was a cat after all, and climbing trees is what cats do.

  Trying again, he took several steps back, and then posed his stance like before. With his behind wiggling back and forth, he released like a spring. He lunged upward, twice as high as before, and ended up with the same results. His claws didn’t sink into the bark and he slid back down to the earth, this time landing with a hard thud. His head throbbed—he could almost see stars encircling it—but he shook it off, sat up, and twitched his tail with displeasure.

  “You cannot climb this tree,” the bird chirped. “It has been turned to rock, and is as solid as your head.”

  “I’m sorry,” the cat said while licking his lips. “I cannot hear you, could you come closer?”

  The bird hopped back and forth on the branch, as if considering, then landed on a lower limb. “Is this better?” she asked.

  “A little.” He grinned. “But if you come down here it will be easier to talk.”

  The bird’s head bobbed from side to side, then cocked inquisitively to the left. “I think you can hear me fine, no?”

  The cat slumped down, by now he was too exhausted to engage in this trickery any longer. He lay back against the rock-hard tree, and made himself as comfortable as he could in its shade. “I must get some rest,” he said as his eyes lazily closed. “We can talk in a little while . . .”

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it must have been a few hours, for when he awoke he felt somewhat refreshed. That is, as refreshed as a cat could be with his moisture draining out of him. His stomach wasn’t as fortunate, however, as it resumed its nagging for food.

  A yawn extended his jaw, and when he opened his eyes they quickly came to focus on the bird, who was standing right in front of him. Before the cat had time to react she flew back up to the lowest branch of the petrified tree.

  There was something moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked down and saw a pile of worms.

  “Please eat,” the bird said. “I have brought you food.”

  An unusual feeling fluttered inside the cat’s chest. He never experienced anything like it before. It was peculiar, but not unpleasant, and contained an enjoyable light-heartedness to it. It almost felt like gratitude, or at least what he thought gratitude must feel like.

  “You mean you brought this for me?” he asked.

  “Of course.” The little gray bird stared at him. “You seemed to be hungry, so I brought you food. I have been saving them up.”

  For the first time he noticed that she had a white splotch on her belly. It glared at him like a beam of guilt.

  Worms weren’t the most enjoyable meal, but they looked good to a hungry cat. He dove in and began to feast on the rubbery, noodle-like creatures.

  “You like?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he managed to say through a mouth full of worms. “Thank you.” Suddenly he stopped chewing, what had he said? Thank you? This might have been the first time in his life he ever thanked anyone, and he had done it without even thinking about it. Back home he just expected everyone to do what he wanted and he always got his way without having to think twice about it.

  “Would you like some?” he asked, after swallowing, surprised at not only being thankful but considerate as well.

  “I already eat worm,” said the bird. “They be hard to find now. So much dry, not much water.”

  This made the cat feel even worse. He had wanted to eat the bird, and here she was giving him the little food she had.

  “Don’t worry,” he said at length. “I’ll get back the moisture that the sponges have stolen. Then you’ll have plenty of worms to eat. By chance, do you know where the King lives?”

  “The King? Of course,” said the bird, bobbing her head. “Up the path, there are two ways to go, take the one to the right, and you will find the palace.”

  “Thank you,” he found himself saying again. Then he curled up with a full tummy and slept until the next morning.

  Chapter 6

  When he awoke, the little bird was nowhere in sight. The sky was a pale blue, and the sun shone through the crisp, chilling air. He stood up, stretched his legs, and shook the loose dirt out of his fur.

  A drink of water would be nice, he thought, or a nice bowl of milk. But neither was to be had.

  The road divided into two paths just as the bird said, and it didn’t take him long to find it. There was a small sign in the middle of the crossing, but he couldn’t read it—books were only things for lying on when someone else wanted to read. There was nothing to do but to trust her.

  As he proceeded, the landscape changed yet again. Vegetation became so sparse that it was easier for him to see further ahead. There were no towns in sight, but the cat noticed something off in the distance that looked like a square blob, blurred by the rays of the hot sun.

  His legs moved slower than before, and his pads dragged against the dry earth as it took what little moisture he had left.

  If only I can get a single drop of water, he thought, but wishing so only made it worse.

  The blurry blob started to take the shape of a bridge, and that meant water. Water! Frantically, he quickened his pace to get there as fast has he could. Several minutes later he was looking over the edge, but to his dismay there was only dry, cracked mud. At one time water must have been there, that was evident, but the work of the sponges was more powerful than he had imagined. How could they have drained an entire river? He supposed it shouldn’t have been such a surprise; after all he was approaching the castle where they lived.

  Suddenly, something flashed before him and landed with a thud on the wooden bridge. At first he wondered if it was a hallucination brought on by dehydration, but to his irritation it wasn’t. A large, ugly troll stood menacingly before him.

  “You cannot pass,” the troll said in a growl. “Not until you pay your dues.”

  The cat was thirsty, tired, and not at all in a mood to deal with this situation. But it wasn’t like a cat to lose its cool, and so he calmly sat down, licked at his fur, and ignored the bothersome pest.

  The troll’s features grew stern. “You pay me now!”

  The nameless cat finished licking his collar before glancing up. When he did, the troll winced back from the feline’s piercing glare.

  “Why should I?” he demanded.

  “Because . . .” The troll stammered. “If you want to pass, you must pay me.”

  “Is this your bridge? Did you build it? Do you own the property on which it sta
nds?”

  “Well . . . no.” There was a look of bewilderment.

  “And you expect me to pay you for something that isn’t even yours?”

  “That’s right . . .”

  “And what would you do with the money? It’s not like anyone would sell you something, looking the way you do. And it’s not like you wouldn’t just steal whatever you wanted anyway. So what good would it do if I were to give you money?”

  The troll didn’t respond. He looked too confused to know what to say. Likely no one had ever questioned him before. They probably just paid him or ran away as fast as they could. He must never have planned on having a challenge of wits—something that put him at a huge disadvantage.

  “And what if I were to just walk under the bridge? Would you expect a fee for that too?” The cat stood up and slowly moved towards the troll, who staggered slightly backwards at the feline’s unblinking and aggressive demeanor. Keeping his eyes on the troll, he stared him down as he spoke. “I do not have any money. I’m a cat, and I don’t even have pockets. Did you even begin to think about that? No! And let me tell you why: It’s because you’re a troll, and you are too stupid to know any better.”

  That last comment suddenly changed the troll’s timid expression. A surge of rage flooded through him, reddening his face with anger. No more batting around words. He was a troll, and would do what trolls do best—attack with brute strength!

  Just as the troll lunged, the cat jumped out of the way, causing the beast to land like a sack of potatoes on the bridge. The boards shook and vibrated as the monster collapsed in a heap.

  The cat hopped up onto the railing and sprinted across the bridge. By the time the troll got back to his feet the cat was calmly sitting, like before, but on the opposite side.

  An even greater surge of rage flooded into the troll’s hulk. He jumped so high in the air that he almost cleared the railing. It wasn’t until he landed that he realized the folly of his temper. Wooden planks broke beneath his feet and he plunged through like a sea otter diving into water. When all movement had stopped, he was stuck in the wooden bridge like a cork with only his arms, shoulders, and head remaining above the surface.

  It was as if time had stopped—the expression on his face was that of a bewildered child—but it wasn’t long before time began again. A shockwave shot across the bridge so fast that in a matter of seconds the whole thing collapsed. The troll fell to the dirt below, cringing as boards landed on the top of his head.

  A loud sobbing filled the distant air as the cat proceeded down the path towards the castle.

  Serves him right, he thought. It’s not the same when you are the one who becomes the victim.

  The troll learned a hard lesson that day: Never mess with an irritable and thirsty cat.

  Chapter 7

  By now it was almost noon, and the cat was hiding behind a bush just a few yards from the castle gates. Two guards stood just before the doors. They were dressed in full metal armor, both holding a shield and spear. The gates were four times the height of the guards, and looked to be made of solid wood. There was no way one little cat could push them open, let alone make it past the guards.

  The guards had helmets so thick that they probably couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them. Still, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t see a cat passing between their ankles. One good thing was that their armor seemed heavy enough to slow them down. But so what if they would not be able to walk faster than a turtle? That wouldn’t stop the thrust of a spear.

  His thoughts were interrupted by something moving under his paw. The cat looked down in surprise at what looked to be a rock. A small, round head emerged from the side of the rock and looked up at him with beady eyes.

  “Your paw is on my back,” the rock said.

  The feline immediately pulled his leg away.

  “That’s better. How would you like it if someone stood on your house?”

  “Oh, pardon me,” the cat said. “I thought you were a rock.”

  “Why of course I’m not! Have you ever heard of a rock that can talk?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I may be old, but I’m not that old.” Four more rounded objects came forth from the shell and took the shape of legs. A turtle emerged and turned to face his new acquaintance.

  “Do you know a way into this castle?” the nameless feline asked.

  “Why would you want to go in there?” the turtle asked. “The King’s advisers would only try to take away your moisture.”

  “What about you? How have you managed to stay around here without getting drained?”

  “Aah, but you see, I am smarter than they.” He winked.

  “Well,” the cat said. “I have come here to get back the moisture they have stolen.”

  “I see,” the turtle said, clearly amused by the feline. “But why?”

  The cat paused for a minute as if to ponder the question for the first time.

  “I guess it’s because I was bored of nothing.”

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I think I like you cat. That’s as good a reason as any I suppose, but how do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He ignored the taunt, but his whiskers twitched with irritation.

  The turtle’s smile grew broader. “Well, at least this will be entertaining to watch. You can’t see it from here, but there’s a crack between the doors, just large enough for critters like us to squeeze through.” He motioned his head towards the guards.

  “And them?” the cat asked.

  “They can’t see a thing, and are probably asleep anyway. I go in and out all the time.”

  The cat smiled, licked his paw, and looked at the large wooden doors. His tail twitched with excitement. “Shall we get started then?”

  “You bet! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” His voice became a sinister whisper, “I thought the fool was entertaining, but this should be even better.”

  The turtle led the way and, as expected, was very slow. The cat was a little annoyed, but he paced himself for the old fellow. His new rock-like friend was, after all, good enough to show him the way in.

  They crept between the guards. Sounds of heavy breathing and snoring echoed in their suits of armor, just as the turtle had said. It was a good thing too, because the cat didn’t like the thought of having one of those spears injected into his paw.

  The crack between the doors appeared before them. It looked worn down from excessive rubbing—most likely from the turtle’s shell. It was a tight squeeze, but he should be able to make it.

  The turtle passed under as if it was part of his daily routine, but when it was the cat’s turn, he struggled a bit. Crawling with his legs in front of him, it felt undignified, something cats hated. But unusually enough, he didn’t feel as irritated as he would have expected. After all, he had been doing a lot of things lately that pushed him beyond his comfort zone.

  The turtle’s face was the first thing to greet him on the other side. Its huge smirk was anything but kind. Ignoring it, the cat looked around.

  The courtyard was huge and filled with beautiful plants and flowers. Sunlight glimmered against a large fountain in the center, as rich, spouting water flowed down into a huge man-made ravine that went deep underneath the castle.

  So this is where all the moisture has gone, he thought.

  The turtle nodded his head in agreement, as if reading his thoughts.

  Without questioning what he was doing, the cat leaned over the fountain, lowered his head, and lapped at the liquid. It tasted like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was more than refreshing. It was as if all the good things in the world were mixed together into a watery form. He thought of beautiful mountains full of trees, singing birds, waterfalls flowing down and splashing droplets against his whiskers. He could smell flowers in the air, the greenery of grass, and the coolness of moisture in the sky. Minutes passed before he finally pulled back and took a breath of air.

  “It’s not good to d
rink so much,” said the turtle.

  “Shush,” the cat whispered. “They might hear you.”

  Suddenly the cat froze. His eyes widened and he could feel the beating of his heart. Energy surged into his limbs, sending a tingle of excitement to the ends of his hairs.

  The trees and plants looked richer than before. Their colors more pronounced and their definitions crisper. Puzzled, the cat turned his gaze towards his new companion.

  “I see it finally hit you,” the turtle said, while holding his trademark grin.

  “What hit me? I feel strange . . . as if my senses are sharper and my mind and body stronger, smarter, lighter . . .”

  “That is the effect of the moisture you drank. It takes a few minutes before you feel it, but once you do . . .”

  “How can that be?”

  “It’s very simple,” the turtle went on. “That was not purely water you drank, but part of the moisture that was stolen from the world. Some from the hearts of man, some from animals, and some from the earth itself. The sponges go out and collect the moisture, and then they empty it here in this pool. They are saving it up so that once everything is drained they can sell it back to the people at a high price. That means only a few will be able to afford it, and many will go without. You drank enough to keep several grown men happy for a week. That is their plan: to take from the many and give to the few. It will be a hot item, and people everywhere will stop at nothing to get it. The sponges will begin to soak up the riches just as they have soaked up the moisture.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I told you.” The turtle winked. “I’m smarter than they are. You were not the only one to mistake me as a rock. I have listened in on the sponge’s conversations many times. It’s strange too, because they cannot speak themselves. They control others to be a voice for them.”

  “But where do the sponges come from?” the cat asked, desiring to fully understand the situation.

  “They were born from man’s desires, his greed, his passion to become better than everyone else. The cost is great, and most people will remain incomplete and unsatisfied with their lives. It will affect everyone differently, because the sponges only take that which is most dear to them. Painters will forget how to paint, musicians will forget how to play, teachers will forget how to teach, and so on. Everyone will continue in their dry, empty lives, unknowingly missing the gifts they once had. The sponges are tricky; they know who to sell the moisture to. A person who desires to be great can buy as much moisture as they can afford. They will possess other people’s talents. The more moisture, the more talents, but the original owners are left empty.”