That night I had the strangest dream. I was back at the side of the brook where Frey and I had spent the night. It was the place where I’d seen the grey kitten, Willow, who had told me that she was my familiar. But, of course, when I’d awoken that morning, there’d been no grey kitten, and I hadn’t seen her since.
In fact, I hadn’t seen any cats in Tinkle Town. I wondered if one had slipped by and only been noticed in the depths of my mind, only to be recalled during my dream. But in my nighttime vision, I didn’t ponder cats in general. I’d dredged up that same image, Willow, the kitten with white patch on her left hind foot and the funny streak that rode down the center of her nose.
When I got up the next morning, I had a feeling of great loss. It was as if that kitten was something I desperately wanted and needed.
The sun’s first rays were streaming through my window. I walked over to stare down. I was looking into the side yard on the opposite side of the gate where Frey and I went in and out. There wasn’t much to see from my window, only a few rose bushes, the white kind that needed no loving care or water, yet bloomed unceasingly. But it wasn’t the rose bushes I was looking at. I think I was searching for a grey kitten, a kitten named Willow that didn’t even exist.
When I entered the kitchen, there was Frank, sitting at the table. He was sipping coffee and eating toast, even though Mrs. Penn hadn’t arrived yet. I guessed that Frank had been the one responsible for making both. It was nice to know that a man could cook and fix coffee. In the village I’d never seen an adult male do more than peek in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Does Tinker Town have cats?” was my immediate greeting. My mouth was having problems holding in my thoughts. I really needed to rein it in, but since I’d left the village, I’d found that almost impossible.
In the village, I’d learned that no one wanted me to speak. I was the quiet mouse in the corner who cleaned and did chores, but here, it was like I was unraveling. Perhaps I was shedding the outer shell I’d wrapped around myself, turtle-like, I mused.
But babbling was not only improper, but dangerous. When a person carried secrets, the mouth needed to stay closed.