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Language:
English
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Published:
2021-09-12
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653
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1/1
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5
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5
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17

deep in the night when the moon's glowing bright

Summary:

Giant cats ferry lonely girls away from their small-town life and out into the big, bright world.

Work Text:

You want to get away, you say? Are you sure? Okay. I will tell you how.

 

It won’t be easy, you know. All the salty sailors down at the dingy dock will tell you the cats don’t like people on their backs. This isn’t quite true. 

 

Yes, if you ask one she will turn up her nose at you and tuck her tail around her paws as if to say she isn’t going anywhere. But every once in a blue moon, a girl or a woman wanders down to the cats’ cove. Her arms will be wrapped around herself, trying to block out the worst of the cold and the salt spray. It’s to no avail; the salt spray will mix with the tears dragging their way down her cheeks, unless she isn’t crying, and some of them aren’t. They’ll sigh as they look out at the moon over the ocean, unless they turn their chin up in determination and huff as they definitely don’t cry. 

 

Some will pick their way over the rocks looking for a boat, an old boat that won’t be missed, washed up against the rocks by the tides. Others go directly to the cats. They can be seen from anywhere on the beach, rising up out of the sand like great furry boulders. The ground shakes and the air vibrates with the weight of purring. Some of the cats will stir as the intruder comes closer. The grandmother will stretch one greying paw towards the latest visitor, who will approach with caution. She knows they aren’t dangerous, but nonetheless, there is something intimidating about a cat so much bigger than her. When she feels safe, she’ll sit on the sand, warm with the weight of a sleepy cat, and lean into the grandmother’s side. The soft black fur will tickle her nose, but she won’t sneeze. She will wipe her eyes and look up at the stars.

 

Eventually, the words bouncing off the walls of her chest will make their way up and out to her mouth, and she can tell the cats about her troubles. They still their purring to listen, absorbing each soft word. Most of these girls, when they’ve said all they need to say, will make their way back over the rocks and up the cliff path to the town. But some will stand up, brush the sand from their skirt, and turn to the cats. “I’m ready to go,” they will say. 

 

One of the cats will stand up and stretch, arching her back high enough to brush against the sky. She will stand by a rock the girl can use to scramble up to her back, grabbing handfuls of fur, pushing off the top of the cat’s legbone. She will apologise, but the cat will take it in her stride; she’s done this countless times before. Then, when the girl is situated, the cat will take her slow steps down the beach. The water will lap around her paws; she’ll extend her claws and dig into the sand as she adjusts to the cold. Then, when she’s ready, she’ll walk into the sea.

 

What happens after the cat fords the sea, well, that’s different for every girl that takes the journey. They’ll all tumble off the cat’s back onto the beach, glad to be on solid ground once again, and they’ll be glad to eat cooked food for the first time in days; but after the cat licks her face with her massive tongue and turn tail for home, it’s up to the girl to forge her own destiny. 

 

How do I know all this? Well, I was one of those girls. I left, and I stayed away nearly ten years. But in the end, I missed my cats. I wanted to be home. If you need to go, though, I understand. Go down to the cove. The cats will help you.