In the eyes of beholder

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

       Fillyjonk had always wanted a cat. She admired their elegance, their talent to fit anywhere and enjoy themselves, the cozy feel they carried even to the shabbiest shacks. But the thought of actually owning one filled her with dread. A cat would shed fur on her immaculate carpets, scratch her polished furniture, and—heaven forbid—leave hairballs or even much worse items in the corners. Her house was a sanctuary of order, and a cat would surely turn it into chaos. So, she shoved that dream into a mental cellar of childish follies and went on cleaning, washing, dusting, vacuuming her perfect house. One autumn morning, just before dawn, Fillyjonk stepped outside to fetch the newspaper. The world was still and silent, wrapped in a thick, white fog. It rolled across the lawn like a living thing, soft and shapeless, yet somehow deliberate. She stood on the doorstep, mesmerised. The fog curled around her feet, cool and weightless, and for a moment, it seemed to take the form of a giant, fluffy cat. Fillyjonk’s heart leapt. Here was the perfect pet—a cat made of fog! It wouldn’t shed fur, scratch furniture, or leave messes. It would come and go as it pleased, silent and untouchable, yet always present in its own mysterious way. From that day on, Fillyjonk began her mornings by stepping outside to greet her fog cat. Sometimes it was there, weaving between her legs, or licking her muzzle with cold, wet but pristine invisible tongue, or lounging on the lawn. Other times, it was gone, dispersed into the morning air. She didn’t mind. Its unpredictability was part of its charm. Her neighbours might have thought she was odd, standing on her porch in her dressing gown, whispering to the mist. But Fillyjonk hoped that respectable beasts stayed in their beds, afraid to miss their beauty sleep, and did not care about opinions of woodies and vagabonds wake and roaming in those wee hours. She had found the perfect companion—one that respected her need for order while still bringing a touch of wildness into her life. Well, at first, Fillyjonk worried that she’d be upset not to be able to show off her rare beautiful cat to her friend Gaffsie or the Hemulen family, but it turned out that keeping secrets was a pleasure in its own right. And wasn’t Fillyjonk twice richer now? She had both a cat and a secret. And on particularly foggy days, she imagined she felt a soft purr vibrating through the air.