By Matthew Dodd
It was early in the morning, and for the first time in the year, snow was falling. Plumes danced down through the air, scattering themselves across the sky and spreading out into a soft white net over the garden. Once vibrant flowers were now dulled to homogeneity. Where leaves once sat, crystals of ice now staked their claim. As the sun rose over the garden, beams of light glanced upon the field, painting a rather pretty picture of winter. The garden made an all but perfect tapestry of the season and its associated joys. That was if one could exclude the unmissable exercise in laziness who made his temporary abode in the middle of all this.
Angelo splayed himself out across the snow-covered lawn, a black smudge on this otherwise undisturbed canvas. Angelo – as you may have ascertained – was a cat, and was therefore accustomed to taking his time when waking up. And yet, even by feline standards Angelo was a lazy cat. He had been known to sleep for near on twenty straight hours and, on one occasion, after a particularly filling meal, had spent an entire week unconscious. However, on this particular morning Angelo struggled to keep a hold on his doze. The incessant snowfall was proving to be rather the impediment to Angelo’s lie-in. His arms gesticulated wildly in a futile attempt to tire himself out again. When this attempt proved fruitless Angelo shook his head and began to wake. He opened his eyes slowly, one at a time – in case any larger cats were waiting in his immediate line of vision – and was slightly confused to find that the world had gone all white. His amber eyes flitted around his surroundings, processing the new information. The world had indeed gone white. That was if it was the world: the living world that is. Angelo jumped up at this. For a cat, Angelo spent a lot of time contemplating death. He often wondered what would happen to him when he eventually ceased to be. In all honesty he tended to believe that death would never happen to him, he was far too special for that.
As he considered this, Angelo became aware that the white of the world seemed to be moving downwards. His eyes narrowed. That certainly was strange. The world only ever moved like this when the great showertime came. Angelo then realised what was afoot. He was not actually dead, as he’d been quite convinced, rather it was that time of year at which the clouds started falling from the sky. Angelo wasn’t quite sure why the clouds did this, but he supposed they had rather a good reason. Angelo knew this time of year well, this being his tenth experience of it, and had come to treat it as a friend, a reminder of everything he was and had been. Humans are often surprised to learn that cats are well aware of themselves and their own temporal position but, as Angelo had often noted, humans were surprised by most things. He was up on his feet by now and, as he began to move, slowly became aware of his situation. This was the Garden. That’s what the humans called it (comprehension of the English language was another feline skill that humans seem to forget). Ah yes, Angelo remembered now. He often liked to visit this spot, this very spot in fact, to take one of his naps. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d taken one such nap very recently. In fact, now that Angelo had thought even more about it, he failed to remember very much of what happened between his last visit and the present. Lost in his train of thought, Angelo had neglected to note the tree – into which he had just walked. Despite his stature Angelo had somehow caused the tree to shake, which caused a large snowfall atop his head, in turn inciting a helpless mew of despair. He shook virulently. Angelo couldn’t entirely recall his position towards this cloudfall.
Upon further examination of the garden, Angelo deduced that he’d only been asleep for at most half a night since the sun was only now rising over the garden fence. That was good for Angelo. This meant that he could go and be there to watch his human wake up. He loved his human more than anything in the world. Even more than he loved napping. Angelo couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Human. Human was to him what the earth was to the moon. Both entirely wrapped in their own existence yet eternally dependent on the other. The Moon rises and falls with the Earth. The Earth may even one day be able to be without the Moon’s complementary being, but the Moon will always need the Earth, and in the same way Angelo will always need his Human. He slumped down against a tree and let memory flood over him. Memories of Human and Angelo together, Human and Angelo apart, and Human and Angelo reunited. Years stretched out in Angelo’s mind, with this Christmastime (yes, Angelo recalled, that’s what Human called it) being the one constant. Other humans had left Angelo’s Human over these years. Angelo had slept on the laps of countless others during the cold months. But Human had always been there. Angelo had even seen Christmases when Human was alone, and Human was sad, and so Angelo was also sad. But Angelo had watched Human find new humans, and be happy again, and that made Angelo happy. Angelo remembered, there was another human that spent some three Christmases with Human. It was a human with brown hair and big brown eyes who used to spend hours with Angelo, stroking him in the spots behind his ears where only his Human knew. Whatever happened to them? Angelo struggled to remember. In fact, he struggled to remember many details these days. Angelo was getting old, he didn’t have time to remember all the sad things. He preferred to spend his thoughts on the happy times he and his friend had shared, rather than dwelling on those awkward in-between times. Human had smiled and laughed in the company of others, and there were times when Human hadn’t. What was the point in trying to dissect the sadness when you could be enjoying the happiness? Angelo slunk forward through the garden towards the house’s back entrance. As he crept, he caught sight of a robin sitting on a tree-branch, rather content with the leaf he was picking at. It pricked its head up and peered at Angelo before returning to its leaf. Angelo made to greet the robin, only for it to fly away, leaving its leaf behind. How fickle and rude that bird is, he thought to himself.