I whistled to Frey and when he came over, I saddled him up. It was a temptation to stay in such a pleasant spot, but I knew I must ride on. Although I’d met my needs for temporary sustenance, there was more to life than mere provisions. Somewhere on the road ahead, I’d find a home. That would be my destination and my goal.
As I swung into the saddle and headed out, I thought about the dream I’d had about a small gray kitten who wanted to accompany me on my explorations. Other people had dreams that were mere fantasies and worry carriers, but I often saw foretellings of what would be. I wondered if I would actually encounter a cat.
As we progressed, following the brook’s path, I smiled at the way my dream cat had named herself Willow. Obviously, that part I’d filled in after lying down under the shady willow tree. Perhaps the rest of the dream was just that, a blending of yearnings because, indeed, I had always wanted a cat.
A few of the houses where I’d stayed had kept yard cats for controlling rats and mice. They weren’t tame enough to get close to. Every time I’d attempted to pet one, he’d run away. The storekeeper, Mr. Brown, owned a marmalade cat, a big orange one with tiger-like stripes. Buttercup had let me pet her sometimes, and her rumble of a purr had sounded exactly like my dream cat’s throaty vibration.
Could it be that I’d been recalling Buttercup and my desire to pet and hold her? But then, why had I pictured Willow so vividly as being gray?