by Mewsette
Queenie was an old cat who liked the simple, natural things of life the best. At 16, she'd spent the first half of her life able to run and hunt outdoors, and the second half of it cooped up in the house. That came about after she had been lost in the woods of this mountain for two weeks, when she was first brought here to live.
Queenie did enjoy her time on the screened in porch facing those woods. They fascinated her. She could often detect other animals wandering among the trees, and sometimes see a hawk in the distance, long before it swooped low enough to startle every chicken in the chicken yard into a cacophony of noise. But the screen and lattice that kept her cooped on the porch were secure. She had tested every inch thoroughly, and there wasn't a ghost of a chance that she could get out.
It was wild on the mountain, with many dangers, her human had said. Nonsense. Had not she, Queenie, faced and vanquished many dangers in her youth? All she feared now was the loud clap of thunder. A sensible fear, she reasoned, because it was usually followed by rain and she didn't like getting wet. It was at least gratifying to her to know there was probably nothing out there beyond the porch that she couldn't face, and a matter of supreme irritation that she couldn't prove it.
One sunny autumn morning, as Queenie stood on the porch to sniff the air, a strong gust of wind suddenly blew the screen door open. Her human had forgotten to latch it! It stuck open on the old wood of the porch. She glanced at the open door to the house. Could her human see her? Did she have the nerve? Of course she did. Without a second thought, Queenie went bounding down the steps and racing for the woods.
There she stopped and crouched to drink it all in. The strong wind in her face. She loved the wind; it enervated her. The mossy smell of the earth, the crackling of the colorful leaves beneath her feet. She felt an overwhelming hunger to experience all the earthy things she had missed so much. Being a calico, she could hide herself among the fallen red and gold leaves, as long as she didn't let the white of her belly and legs show. She crept forward to a flat grey rock to see what the bump on it was. Only a toad, sunning himself in the ray of sunshine that broke through the edge of the trees.
She saw rivulets of water running downhill, through the viney growth and over pebbles. She was thirsty, and stopped to drink. Ahh, lovely. She pounced on a large fat mouse and shook him wildly in her jaws. But she'd had a good breakfast of salmon catfood, and was too excited to be hungry. Dropping her kill, she ran for a tree trunk that a squirrel, chattering in alarm, had just run up. She gathered herself for the leap, clawing her way up the trunk in glee, then turned and jumped down. She tiptoed through the crackley leaves and dug beneath them to the ground, unearthing a big round bug and a tiny, slithery snake. The snake was good for a satisfying game of hide and seek.
How time flew by! The sun dropped lower and the wind died down. The woods were still. Queenie heard a voice calling her name. Her human's voice. She looked up toward the house and yes, she could still see it. Memories came flooding back to her, of losing her house long ago, when she didn't yet know what the new house looked like from the outside. Of being hurt when she got her front leg caught in the collar that didn't break away. Of being hungry and scared, of days and nights spent in cold, damp places, not knowing if she'd ever see her human again. Of the joy and relief when they found each other. Was she a wiser cat now? Yes, she was.
Reluctantly, Queenie began to make her way uphill to the edge of the woods. She walked out into the golden sunset where her human knelt on the ground, holding out her arms to her. She hesitated only a second, and ran into those arms.
Shortly after that, Queenie faced another move to another house, far away from her woods. A comfortable house in a city, with many good sunlit windows for her to lie in. There was no old wood screened porch. There were no woods. Queenie grew very old there, and she often had lovely dreams of her last odyssey.
