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ArtistKeep as is .A lilac-grey cat with luminous green eyes and a rich indigo satin ribbon walks toward the viewer across a vast, light turquoise snowfield beneath a glowing full moon. Its body turns slightly to the left, revealing its flank, while its face remains directed toward the viewer. One front paw reaches forward; its tail curves upright. A continuous trail of realistic feline pawprints leads from the centre of the distant field directly to the cat’s back feet. Fill every gap between the trail and the hind paws. The prints alternate naturally, becoming smaller with distance, with four toe impressions pointing toward the approaching cat and the larger pads toward the horizon. The nearest tracks disappear naturally behind its body. Delicate frost-covered branches frame the scene, with distant trees along the horizon, soft falling snow, silver moonlight, and subtle lavender shadows. Intricately detailed fur, shimmering snow crystals, dreamy painterly realism, elegant winter fairytale atmosphere. Vertical composition. No text.
That was how the woman at the window described it. A stroll. As though the cat had gone out to consider her investments.
Out in the field, things were understood differently.
She moved through the turquoise moonlight wearing an indigo ribbon somebody had tied around her neck because beauty, apparently, needed a receipt. Lilac-grey shoulders rolled beneath her fur. Her tail stood up like the flag of a country with one citizen and no extradition treaty.
Underneath the snow, the voles were conducting business.
Scratch scratch.
Chew chew.
A little argument over a root.
The whole field had another field underneath it. Warm passages. Grass ceilings. Neighbours you could hear eating through the wall. Above them, winter spread its enormous clean tablecloth, and everybody assumed dinner had been cancelled.
The cat knew better.
She stopped.
One ear swivelled.
Now there are men who have spent forty years sitting in government buildings trying to achieve the concentration that entered that cat between one breath and the next. She became so still the ribbon finished moving without her.
Below: a vole hauling a grass seed backward through a tunnel.
Above: two green eyes arriving at an opinion.
The moon watched. It had seen this arrangement before.
Then—UP!
Four paws gathered beneath a lilac body, the whole beautiful machine briefly airborne, ribbon flying, and DOWN she came through the crust.
Snow exploded around her ears.
For a moment she stood with her face buried and her backside pointing toward the stars, looking considerably less like the darling of the windowsill.
Nothing.
The vole had taken a side passage.
Far below, in a chamber no bigger than a closed fist, it sat beside its seed. Its heart hammered against its ribs. A little snow sifted from the ceiling.
The cat withdrew her head.
She licked one shoulder with the grave attention of somebody repairing a public misunderstanding.
At the window, the woman tapped the glass.
“Beauty!”
The cat looked back across the field. There was a square of yellow light, a warm stove, a dish already waiting.
She sat down.
Under the snow, the vole began to eat.
For several minutes neither of them moved any farther than necessary.
