I Found a Kitten Nestled in a Sock
Because sometimes we can’t explain why we see the things we see
This morning I found a kitten nestled in a dry sock, resting in a patch of snow. I didn’t know how we both came to be in this snow, nor where it was, only that we were the only interruption to the sweet shop-sized area of it that lay beneath us.
We were tucked away in an unscathed corner of an ornate town, full of red-bricked residences that perched above ornate shop fronts. All passers-by were dressed in their cosy winter wardrobes, chins raised and eyes locked into a stare with an invisible destination that lay ahead.
Everyone clearly had somewhere to go. But not us; we were outsiders, without the slightest sense of intimacy from the town nor the people darting about within it. Anything happening beyond this enclosed space we found ourselves in — despite its bright and bustling atmosphere — could have meant the same to me as more heaps of snow. I couldn’t personally speak for the kitten, however.
It seemed right at home down there. Crawling ‘S’ shapes inside the brown sock, casually weaving its air of whimsy into the fabric. Such an odd little thing, which remained so warm and dry regardless of its harsh surroundings. As if it had no idea that but such a wafer-thin layer separated its tiny paws from surely freezing. How could looking upon something with such diluted shades of grey make me feel so warm inside?
From time to time it poked out its beautiful airbrushed face from the sock’s mouth. Its eyes of smiling sapphire let me know it was safe during its endeavours. The mere fact it was comfortable enough in my presence to show me its face toasted my heart in this snow. It could have even thought I was its mother. It almost made me feel guilty for not even knowing its gender.
I could have looked at that misplaced bundle move around in there with such playful adamance all day. It filled me with such a positive outlook on life. It shocked me to have been overpowered by an inner magnetism pulling me to follow a person I hardly knew. Someone who I had debated with earlier that day, no less. Something I had said did not agree with her, and I knew exactly what it was and what I could do to change her perception of me back to its original state. So I set a course for her crisp white tracks in the ground.
Where could this woman be leading me? Her ash brown locks like a willow’s branches swayed upon her back as she maintained her seemingly predetermined route. Not once looking back, as if completely confident that I would obediently continue to step into her sunken footprints, without question.
Within seconds I had jumped ahead to what must have been a few streets upon the edge of this alien town. Did I simply forget how I came to walk this far? It had also dawned on me that my new little friend was nowhere to be found, not in my hands nor my deep pockets. I hadn’t actually picked up the sock! In this absent-mindedness, could I really have forgotten something that important!?
I made a violent dart back to that snowy patch. Now able to identify with one of the winter-clad townsfolk who actually had somewhere to be.
As I approached the clearing of the enclosure, eyes locked on to the sock and zoomed in for an extreme close-up… only to find the once lively kitten was now frozen solid. Its beautiful head still peeping through the mouth of the sock… now a makeshift coffin.
One glimpse of seeing the kitten’s eyes open and iced over like that and my arms jolted into action. I cradled the sock with a trembling left hand, and with my right hand’s naked fingers pressed neatly together, I attempted to generate heat by rubbing its outer layer.
Delicately I worked to thaw out the tiny body. Stomach acid rose a few millimetres per second of realising that it no longer felt like a kitten. It was more comparable to a kitten-sized ice pack, wrapped in a cloth to protect hands from its frozen stings.
To my astonishment, the permanently opened eyes reflected a glimmer of hope into my own. The layer of ice fixing them in insipidness melted away. They even began to blink, albeit slowly and out of sync.
I anticipated salvation as I peeled away the dry brown sock… but was instead welcomed by horror in the form of a small pile of black goo where a body was meant to be. Not even bones to be found. And when retiring my now steaming eyes back to the animal’s detached head, its blue eyes that could have once enchanted even the most sceptical soul had closed evermore.
My body had managed to morph itself into a drably coloured kettle throughout this entire ordeal. It had now reached its boiling point as lashings of steam evacuated through my eyelids. Lips pursed and unblinkingly gazing into whatever had unfurled before me. I stood there locked in this black hole of a stare for what must have been ten minutes before breaking concentration. It was as if my eyes had momentarily forgotten how to blink, similar to those moments when you become fully aware of your breathing pattern and all of a sudden, you have no choice but to breathe manually. When it finally came time for my eyes to blink, wild horses couldn’t drag the hot tears back from the Earth’s gravitational pull.
I had killed this helpless life. The question that remained was, simply… why?
That is what I continued to ask myself as I woke up…
© Rose Butcher, 2021. All rights reserved.
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