Fiction Friday #3: The Fox

I thought about canceling this today since–again–I'm unprepared.  Which is to say, I have no story finished to publish, but I did promise that I wouldn't miss a month.  So–again–you all get the roughest of rough drafts.

By Haggblom, Lisa [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

There once was a fox who fell in love with a human.  Needless to say, the fox found this to be highly inconvenient.  Foxes are wild, wily creatures not generally given to sentiment or domestication, both of which plague humans in abundance.  But he could not deny that his heart beat a little faster at the mere scent of her, his human.  Nor could he fail to notice that his nightly wanderings nearly always ended near her den on the edge of the deep woods.  So, as much as he'd have liked to deny it, eventually he had to admit that he was indeed in love.  With a human.

After this difficult self-realization—and, really, what self-realization isn't difficult?—the fox was left with the problem of how to woo a human.  Humans are very different than foxes.  The fox tried everything that worked with foxes. He scent-marked her yard to let her know that he was there and interested, but she just thought it stunk.  The only males that he could fight to show his prowess in battle were humans many, many times his size, and the old cat who lived with her.  He didn't think he could win in a fight against a human, and as she seemed inordinately fond of the cat he doubted she'd appreciate him fight him.  The dead animals he left in her garden went completely unappreciated.

So how were humans courted?

The fox took the question to the oldest fox he knew, sheepishly admitting his feelings for the human (since such things are not commonly done), and asked for her assistance.  The elder fox was aghast, and scolded the younger one for his foolishness.

"What's wrong with you?!" the elder fox barked.

"I know, I know," the young fox said, laying his ears down in shame, "It's wrong, me loving a human, but I do anyway.  Can you help me or not?"

The old fox thought about it and said, "I may be able to cure you of this unnatural love."

"No!" said the fox.  "I mean, it's all kinds of horrible, but I don't want to cure myself of my love, because it's kind of nice too."

"Well," the old fox huffed, "I can't help you.  Go ask someone else."

So the young fox left to ask someone else.  The bears were known to have a certain amount of wisdom, the fox decided that he would go ask them.

The fox found the oldest and wisest bear in the forest and asked him about wooing humans.

"Bears do not woo humans," the bear said.  "Human and animal kind do not mix.  It's unnatural.  I cannot help you.  Go away."

The fox was disheartened, but determined so he left the bears and went further afield in search of someone who could help him.  Maybe the wolves—he'd heard stories of the wolves' dealings with humans.  He decided to seek out the wolves.

At the wolves' den the fox spoke with the two oldest and wisest wolves, the grandmother and grandfather of the pack.  Wolf cubs played tumble-rumble at their feet.

"I am in love with human," the fox told the wolves.  "I don't know what to do about it."

"That is the way with love," the old female said.

"True, true," agreed the male, "love is the greatest of foolish acts, but with a human?  I don't see the point."

"I think what my mate is trying to do," said the female, "is ask what you want to do with this human female?  What are you're intensions?"

The fox thought about this for a bit and then said, "I love my human.  I would like her to love me too.  I want to make her my mate and raise kits with her."

The old wolves' howled with laughter, joined by the pups who, though they didn't really know why their elders were laughing, thought it must have been a grand joke.  The fox wanted to curl his tail over his nose.

"We can't help you," the old female said.

The male shook his head.  "It's been over a hundred years since we had close relations with humans," he said, "and even then we didn't mate with humans, we just raised the occasional human cub."

"What should I do?" the fox cried.

"We don't know," the wolves said.

The fox left the wolves' den and went in search of better help.  But who could he ask?  He couldn't think of who could help.  He wandered the woods asking all the animals he saw.  The mice just squeaked and ran away.  The squirrels threw nutshells and chittered from the tops of their trees.  The deer didn't even deign to look his way.  The birds were too empty-headed to do anything but sing obnoxious limericks at him.

After days and days, and miles and miles, the fox was beginning to lose hope.  He thought about going back to his den and pining away for his human.  What was the point of continuing on?  No one could help him.  No.  He had to go on.  His heart wouldn't let him do anything else.

"Hey, little cousin," a sly voice crept out of the shadows towards him, "Why do you wear such a sad look?"

It was a coyote.  The fox perked up, he hadn't asked a coyote for help yet.  In truth, he hadn't even thought about asking a coyote for help, for though coyote's are wise it is a crazy sort of wisdom.  The kind of crazy that is just as likely to cause disaster as to avert it.  Coyote's are sly too—not as sly as foxes, mind—but they carried a cunning unique among the animals.  The fox sighed, he had nothing to lose and love yet to gain.

"I've fallen in love with a human," he said, "I want to make her my mate, but I don't know how to woo my human.  I don't know a way to be with her.  Can you help me?"

The coyote chuckled, a spark of madness danced in her eyes.  "That's easy," she said, "and difficult.  Humans don't mate with us animals.  So what you need to do is become human."

"How do I do that?" the fox asked, hoping against hope that the coyote wasn't playing some trick.

"You need to learn how to shed your skin and become something new," said the coyote.  "If I were you I'd talk to the snakes, they're always shedding something."

"But snakes shed their skin and are still snakes," said the fox.

"Yes, but they like being snakes and see no reason to become anything else," the coyote said.  "You, if you really want to be with your human, have a reason to change.  Ask the snakes.  What harm could there be in it?"

Then, with a yip and a scurry the coyote ran off to do whatever damn-fool-crazy thing coyotes do, and the fox thought that maybe asking the snakes was a good, if dangerous, idea.  He set off in search of sun-warmed rocks and dark burrows to find one.

And soon enough, he did.

The snake he found was a big king-daddy of a forest rattler.  Old-old by the size of him and the number of rattles on his tail.  Snakes, now, are dangerous creatures.  Some of the oldest predators in the world.  For the first time since he grew to adulthood the fox felt afraid for his life.  The other creatures the fox knew he could outrun, outthink, or outfight, but snakes, especially ones with venomous bites, were different.  Snakes struck fast, often without warning, and would eat anything they could get their jaws around.  Generally the fox avoided snakes, except for the small, harmless ones he sometimes ate for supper, but he needed to know how to shed his skin and change his shape, so he had to get close enough to have a conversation.  He shuddered and stepped closer, the old rattler eyed him speculatively.

"Do you want sssomething from me, little fox?" the rattler asked, his deep, sibilant voice swept along the ground, and the fox could almost feel it slide into his ear.

"I have fallen in love with a human," the fox said.  "I want to make her my mate."

"Humansss don't mate with animalsss," the snake hissed.

"I know," said the fox.  "I have asked every animal in this forest for help, and they have all said the same thing.  But a coyote told me that to mate with my human I must become human.  She suggested that I speak with one of your kind, because to become human I must shed my skin."

The rattler slid around behind the fox, looping his body around the smaller animal, and held his face so close to the fox's snout that should the snake flick out his tongue the tip of it would touch the fox's nose.  He looked directly into the fox's eyes and said, "You want to ssshed your ssskin and become a human."

"Yes," the fox was so scared that it came out as a growl.

The snake shook his rattles in response.  "It'sss been a long time sssince a mammal hasss wanted to ssshed itsss ssskin," he said, coiling slightly tighter around the fox.  "Cccenturiesss, I think.  Are you sssure you wisssh to do thisss?"

"To win the affection of my beloved I would do anything," said the fox, "What do I need to do?"

"You're ssseriousss."

"Yes."

"Then, it isss sssimple," said the snake.  The fox felt the spark of hope inside of him flare into a wild blaze, he almost asked the snake again what he needed to do to shed his skin and become human, but the old rattler continued before he could speak.  "To ssshed your ssskin, all you need to do is die."

And the snake struck.  The fox barely had time to think before the rattler's fangs were pumping his small body with venom.  It was all he could do to bring the vision of his beautiful human to his mind's eye before the world went black with pain.

At the edge of the deep woods there is a little stone cottage with a thatched roof and a lovely garden.  A woman lived in the house alone, just her and her old tomcat, and most of the time she preferred it that way.  She didn't fit in in town, and while she was not exactly shunned, she wasn't exactly welcome there either.  She was too independent minded, too much a creature of the forest for the townsfolk to feel comfortable around her.  Some whispered that she was a witch, and though she knows a bit of magic, and worships different gods, she'd never done anyone any harm, so most were content to leave her be, and she was content to let them.

Sometimes though, when the wind was right, the woman dreamt of having someone to love.  Someone to help her with her chores and the upkeep of the house.  Someone to laugh and talk with.  Someone to hold her during the lonely nights.  Someone who could give her a family.  But she knew that what beauty she has is not great enough to lure a man out to the woods, and she couldn't stand being so close to so many other people for long periods of time, so she wouldn't move into town.  After having to refuse one legitimate proposal of marriage, and several other more insulting offers to become a mistress, she decided that that particular dream of hers wasn't meant to manifest, so worked instead on other projects.  Still, there were nights when her heart ached for what she knew she'd never have.

Most days, unless she needed to go into the forest for something, or into town for something else, the woman could be found in her back garden tending the plants.  Vegetables, herbs, and flowers grow in near jubilant abundance, and she found peace turning the soil and discouraging weeds.  She'd sing to the plants, and watch them grow.

That is where she was, kneeling on the ground, tending a young juniper plant, when a tall, thin man stumbled out of the woods, naked as an animal, with hair as red as the fox's pelt he clutched in one hand.  He smiled at her, a crooked grin that showed off his white teeth and rather long canines, and said, "I did it.  I did it," in a scratchy sort of growl, before collapsing into her patch of basil.

"Goodness!" the woman said, jumping to her feet and running to the man.  "Sir!  Sir?  Are you alright?"

The man whined deep in his throat.  "I hurt," he said in halting syllables, "but it was worth it.  You are so lovely."

The woman blushed, it'd been a long time since anyone called her lovely, and said, "You're injured we should get you inside.  Can you walk?"

"Yes.  On two legs even!" the man said as, with her assistance, he struggled to his feet.  He would have fallen again once he got there, but the woman draped one of his arms over her shoulders and put her arm around his waist to steady him.  He struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

"Come on now," she said, "We'll get you off your feet again soon enough.  Let's go inside and you can tell me how you came to be here."

"Okay," the man said, distracted by the feel and smell of her, he'd never been so close before.  "What are you called?"

"Aubry" the woman said.  "What should I call you?"

The man thought about this, and answered, "Fox.  You can call me Fox."

"It suits you," Aubry said, he thought he heard a smile in her voice.  He hoped he was right.  "What happened to you, Fox?"

"I was bit by a snake, but that didn't happen until the end."

"And what happened at the beginning?"

"I fell in love with you."

Poetry Wednesday #30

Olathe, KS—sometime last autumn
It's not actually a tornado, it just has that potential.

Potential Unfilled

Pressure building,
The wind lets out it's storm-scream,
And water-heavy clouds
Stack
One on top
Of the other.
The sirens sing their warning,
And animals seek shelter–
Cowering together–
Hoping for protection
From whatever's coming on.
Oh! What ominous darkness!
What a frightening sky!
Destruction threatens,
Then moves on.
Leaving the surrounding landscape
Little changed,
And the held breath of the
Smaller creatures
Wasted.

Poetry Wednesday #29

Cinderella by Daniella Brown

Incremental

When did I learn to be

Ashamed?

When did my spirit become

Lamed?

When did I know I must be

Blamed?

I remember walking

Tall,

No worries at

All,

No wish to be

Small.

It happened slowly, over 

Years

Of holding back

Tears

And swallowing 

Fears.

I can't seem to mark the

Day

When I lost my

Way

And began to

Fray.

I remember walking 

Tall,

No worries at

All,

No wish to be 

Small—

But those are just 

Memories.

Poetry Wednesday #28

This is who I sing to, note the pity in his eyes.

I do (a.k.a. the goofy song I sing to my cat)

I love such a pretty boy–

A kitty boy–

A witty boy.

I love such a pretty boy.

I do.  I do.  I do.

chorus

I do I do I do I do I

Do I do I do I do I

Do I do I do I do

I do I do I do

I have such a pretty boy–

My kitty boy–

My bitty boy–

I have such a pretty boy.

I do.  I do.  I do.

repeat chorus

I love such a pretty boy–

My kitty boy–

My bitty boy–

I love such a pretty boy.

I do.  I do.  I do.

Repeat chorus.  Then basically sing this whole song over again and over again until you are just making meaningless sound and your cat is looking at you like you're crazy.  It's fun!

My Space or What I Did in January

Way, way back (in November) I set a goal for myself to clear out my living space and make it habitable again by the end of January.  I succeeded.  Wonderfully, I think.

To give you an idea of what I mean, I guess I should explain just what I was working with.  My space is a 10x10 room in my parents house.  For the past several years ALL of my worldly possessions have been crammed into that small bedroom, and it really hasn't been the most comfortable place to live.  Not only is it very, very small, but it was also painted a brilliantly hideous shade of orange.

Yep.  Orange.  And messy.

I spent a little over a month cleaning out everything.  Moving my books and boxes and things to the basement.  Seriously, like, 20 boxes of books.  It was ridiculous.  Little by little, I emptied my room of everything but my bed and bookshelves (with only one layer of books on each shelf)—incidentally, before the end of April I plan on going through all those boxes of books and weeding them all down to the essentials, which, for me, is still quite a lot, but not nearly as many as I currently have.  I bought a dresser, which I haven't had for at least a decade, and picked out new colors for my room.

I spent a week scrubbing and sanding my walls, then another week priming and painting.  My new colors are so much better.  I also rearranged my furniture.  My room is transformed.  And, if I may myself, very pretty.

So pretty.

Three of the walls are painted the Sherwin-Williams color "Sea Salt" and the fourth wall, the one with the window which my dresser is against, is painted "Oyster Bay."

Man, I love it.  I still have some work to do.  Here soon I plan on painting all the trim white, get new (white!) bookshelves to go in the corner I didn't photograph, get new shades and curtains for the window, and matching curtains to replace my missing closet doors (don't ask me where they went, I don't know).  Also, I have several more pictures to hang somewhere.  But it's a very good start and a much more relaxing place to live.  

My accessories are also great.  

I found this blue and white flower pot in my parent's garage.  My mom told me that someone gave it to her (with a plant in it) when I was born.  I claimed it for myself because I thought it was cute, and apropos since I'm trying to start my life anew.  Cute, right?

And, I was finally able to put out my awesome dragon lamp!

And, apparently, I'm a huge fan of fantasy art.  Who'd've thought?

Gods!  I love that painting.

So that's it.  It's my much-better-but-still-work-in-progress-room.  Now if I can only fix up the rest of my life...

Poetry Wednesday #27

Saturno devorando a su hijo by Goya

Creep

Vile devourer of possibilities,

Odious shrinker of worlds,

Rabid lapdog of the stagnant and befouled.

The new, the innovative, the fresh—

Uncomfortable for those whose

Comfort lies in filth—

Are hounded to exhaustion,

Driven away,

Enveloped,

Their pain gorged upon,

Their silence consumed and

Celebrated.

What sustenance do you get

From suffering

When the future of your 

World

Depends upon renewal?

What nourishment

Is there

In a world gone to rot?

Fiction Friday #2: The Impossible Island (1st draft)

Inspired by stories of disappearing islands off the coast of just about every country that borders the sea, and the floating city over China this past October.

Áine was fairly certain she was losing her mind.  She stood on the balcony of her apartment, still in her pajamas, a cup of tea in her hands, gazing at the morning landscape.  It was a ritual she began when she moved in, nearly a year ago.  There was a time when her ritual of morning tea steadied her before she had to go to work.  Of course, that was before the landscape changed.  

Áine's apartment once overlooked her neighborhood: buildings, roads, an outdoor shopping center, other apartments, parking lots, trees, and the like; and while the view had not been exactly idyllic, it had been comfortable.  Steadying.  She'd lived her entire life in neighborhoods like it.  Now though, now her comfortable life had been upended, because when she looked out from the balcony of her apartment now what she saw was unbelievable: an island, off in the distance, rising up from the sea, and, closer,  a craggy beach which met the end of her building's parking lot, swallowing the dentists office that once shared the same property line.  It was pretty, and would have been refreshing if she were vacationing in some coastal city, but Áine lived in Kansas, possibly the most landlocked land ever.  She shouldn't be able to smell the salt sea wind from her balcony, or hear the gulls, or gaze upon an island just a few miles off the coast.

What worried her most was that the island, along with surrounding sea, et cetera, et cetera, was definitely moving closer.  A few days ago the dentist's office had still been there, now, poof!, replaced by some disturbing moving ocean.

Still it was beautiful.  

Áine sighed and sat down in the little chair she kept on her balcony.  Leaning back, she cupped both hands around her teacup and brought it to her mouth.  She didn't drink, just breathed the steam and pondered her island dilemma.  Another few days moving like it was, and the island would completely overcome her apartment building.  What would happen then?  Would she drown?  Be crushed?  Or would nothing happen at all?  Would the island pass over and she not notice it in the least?  She'd noticed other people continued driving on the roads that passed through the island and surrounding sea, and there hadn't been a rash of mysterious disappearances in the weeks since it first appeared.  She'd been watching for that in the nightly news.  Other people didn't seem to notice the anomalous landscape at all.  Meanwhile, she'd been driving hours out of her way to avoid the island on her way to and from work.  It had really affected her performance and mood, but she just couldn't bring herself to drive through the damned scene.  She was afraid she'd ruin her car, and possibly drown herself, by driving right into the sea.

What could she do?

Well, it was the weekend, she had a few days off work to figure it out.  Áine sipped her tea and stared out at the island.  Who was she kidding?  Figure it out.  She may as well try to stop the wind.  She listened to the waves lapping at the shore, and she could almost see the landscape inching forward.  This was not something that could be stopped.  Though, perhaps, it was something that could be endured.  She wasn't sure.  Áine drank her tea and thought about that for a long time.

After a long time, and rather an excess of sighs, Áine removed herself from her little balcony and went back in her apartment to clean her teacup, get out of her pajamas, and start her day.  Food and fresh water were put down for Legbiter, her large, mottled black and orange cat.  Legbiter wound his way through her legs affectionately as she did so.

"Oh, kitten," she said, "do you see the island when you look out the window?"

The cat just looked at her, gave an inscrutable "mrow," and turned his attention to his food.

"You're no help," Áine told him.  "I don't know.  I feel like I have to do something.  I'm just not sure what."

Áine stood looking out her window at the now familiar seascape and thought.  Then, decision made, announced, "I'm going out," and bolted for her door before she had a chance to change her mind.  Once outside she slowly, partially regretting her decision, made her way across the parking lot and to the rocky beach.  She stopped at the point where sand met asphalt, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the strand.  It was surprisingly difficult, that step.  It felt like pushing her way through thick spiderwebs.  Not exactly sticky, but the air clung.  Then she was there, in that liminal space where sea met land, and it was as real as anything.  She'd been half expecting the landscape to just fade, but it didn't.  Áine wondered if anything would ever be the same again.

Áine breathed deep.  The air was cool and clean.  Disturbingly pure.  She couldn't smell car exhaust or chemicals or any of the scents that came with the city.  She felt slightly intoxicated, her body tingled, and her thoughts fluttered and wouldn't be still.  There was music, something like music, coming from somewhere, and suddenly she wanted to move move move.  To run towards the ocean, leaving her clothes behind, and swim in it.  She wanted to swim all the way out to the little island.  It was calling to her.  Laughing.  Singing.  Barely audible.  Promising her all the things she wanted, but never thought she could have.  She wanted it all.  She wanted to go, to leave behind everything, and explore the unknown.  She wanted it with a clarity, a hunger she had never experienced before.  Áine lifted her foot to take a step closer to the sea, barely registering the movement.  Then she stopped and turned to look back at her apartment, wondering if it would still be there.  It was.  But it was hazy, not quite real, like some sort of mirage.  It also seemed very far away, for all that the border was still just a half step in front of her.  A sudden thought struck Áine, it would probably be wise to go back while she still had a chance, but the sea called to her, and all she wanted was to explore the little island floating in it.  

Looking up to her floor, Áine saw Legbiter sitting in her kitchen window looking down at her, and she was torn.  He needed her, so she couldn't go, but she wanted to.  So, so bad.  She felt like nothing in her past was real.  Her apartment, her job, her friends, her cat, all part of a long and boring dream.  She was standing on the precipice of her real life.  All she had to do was step back, turn away, and she could get on with it.  Legbiter yowled, and pawed at the window, and she knew, with regret, that she could never turn away.

One of her neighbors, the elderly man who lived across the hall, exited the building with his dog.  He crossed the parking lot, coming toward her, and Áine realized with a start that he was heading for the patch of grass that was between the dentist's office and the lot.  Not her.  He couldn't see her.  To her he was hazy, slightly out of focus, like everything beyond the spider-silk strands of the border she crossed.  To him, she thought, I'm invisible.  Maybe that's why no one else has been reacting to the island.  They literally don't see it.  Then, why do I?

That thought in her head, Áine pushed through the border—it was harding going back—and returned to her real life, shocking her neighbor in the process.  He filled her ears with Where'd-you-come-from's and I-didn't-see-you-standing-there's, or some other such noise, she only half-listened while exchanging pleasant banalities with him.  Her mind was busy planning something she couldn't quite touch.  After her neighbor wandered off with his dog, Áine looked back toward the island.  It was still there.  Her nebulous plans became more solid.  She ran into her building, and up to her apartment to get her keys and purse.  She paused, briefly, to pet and coo at Legbiter, assuring him that she was fine and that she'd be back shortly.  Then she ran back out, and to her car.  She had some shopping to do.

It was night when she got back.  She had to take the long way around, after all.  The island was still there, she sent a quite "thank you" to the universe.  Áine didn't want to think that she'd spent several thousand dollars—that she didn't actually have, thank you—on a kayak and tent that she was never going to use.  She spent several hours going through her things, packing some, saying goodbye to others.  She kept up a one-sided conversation with Legbiter while she worked.

"This, quite probably, is going to ruin my life, Leggie," she said, "I really . . . I don't know why I'm doing this, but it just seems right.  I don't know.  I don't know.  I don't know.  But if you were there, you'd know.  You'd understand.  I'm right.  I'm right.  I'm right.  I know I'm right about this.  How's the harness?"

Legbiter gave Áine an annoyed look and continued his awkward pacing around her bedroom, trying to get used to (or out of) the harness she bought for him.  She wondered, briefly, how he'd react to the leash she got to go with it.  Then she resumed her manic inventory.

"Do you think I'll need this?" she asked holding up a dress.  "No, I'm not going to need this.  Why would I need a dress?  A skirt, though.  I might need a skirt.  I have to make sure I can carry the bag, though.  Can't be too heavy.  I really have to weed stuff down.  Oh gods, I wish I could take my books.  Maybe just one.  Or two.  Three at most.  I can live with that.

"Do you think I should take some booze?  I mean, I have food and stuff, but do you think I should take some liquor?  Maybe some wine?  

"Thank the gods I already had hiking boots!"

And so on.  She was manic, frantic, and feeling more than a little unbalanced.  Áine knew she was packing things with little rhyme and less reason—it's not as though she'd never been camping before—but she couldn't stop herself.  Every instinct she had was screaming, telling her that what she'd needed on those aforementioned camping trips was not what she would need on the island.  So she packed most of her jewelry, a penny whistle, five books, her journal, three changes of clothes (including a skirt that matched all of the tops she was bringing along), and a variety of other items that would normally be completely useless on a long hike or camping trip.  But she felt she needed them, so they came.  

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said several times throughout the night.

It was midnight before she calmed down, her belongings packed, and Legbiter finally used to his harness.  She wrote a letter to her mom trying to explain what she was doing, and apologizing for it in advance. Then she taped her spare key to the paper, before folding it in an envelope to mail.  Thinking about it, Áine decided it was probably best if she mailed it tonight rather than wait.  Thinking a bit more, Áine also decided to spend the night on the beach, just in case.  She was so afraid that it all would disappear, her great chance for adventure, for magic, gone while she dithered about.  Chances, she knew, do that: disappear while you're deciding whether or not to go for it.  She made her decision and didn't want to wait.  

Áine ran down the block to the mail box and back to gather Legbiter and her things in record time.  Then Legbiter leashed and grumbling, her pack on her back, she exited her apartment locking the door behind her.  In the parking lot, she drug the small kayak off the roof of her car, and then fumbled everything back across the spider's web barrier to the impossible.  There, on the beach above the tideline, she and Legbiter curled up to sleep until dawn.  

She woke feeling slightly damp with mist, looked around herself and gulped.  The sea and the island were there as she half hoped/half dreaded, but there was nothing else.  Her apartment, as hazy as it'd seemed the day before, was completely gone.  There was no going back.  That too was something she half hoped/half dreaded would happen.  She stood up, packed the kayak, and dragged it closer to the sea.  Then she collected Legbiter, holding him to her chest and rubbing her face against his fur.

"Well," she said, "I guess we're on an adventure."

The cat purred.