Well | h.s.

- lassie

My mother always told me not to wander too far. She said I used to like to leave her side the second we'd leave the car. In the mall, I'd run past her, seeking out treasures in stores.

But that was all until she told me about Little Harry. That nursery rhyme kept me awake for weeks. I'd never let go of my mother's hand and never walk past her.

Now, 25 years old, I fear what might happen to me every time I leave my house. The world is scary and screams at me. The cars chug and holler, the busses screech and squeal. People chatter far too loud, I fear someone might chew my ears off if I come around.

The world is scary. Murderers, kidnappers and thieves all exist. Perhaps they were never told young enough about the consequences.

Every time I had tried to leave my house, it all became too much. The wind scraped at my skin, the air was poisoning my lungs from my moment I took a breath. Just a step, I'd tell myself.

But a step more could mean death.

A step more could give me the flu. A step more could give room for someone to pull me away from my house. A step further could lock me out. A step further and my stairs could break, snap and cause me to collapse into the white-picket-gate.

It took one more step for Little Harry to fall down the well and no one expects me to be out here. No one would know if I fell.

But when little Missy Grace, that white fluffy fur-ball and my only companion, fled from my back door while I contemplated this next step, she disappeared. Into the woods she ran, never looking back and clearly on a mission.

You can't go get her, the earth will swallow you whole.

You'll break an ankle, or your spine or maybe you'll shatter into a million pieces and blown away. Or maybe this is a sign.

Little Harry didn't have a Lassie, but I have a Missy.

Maybe my cat, forever estranged to the outside world, has found something far more important outside.

Or maybe she's just fleeing from this stuffy house.

But what if a nuclear gas gets released while I'm in the woods and the only place I could be safe is in my house? Wouldn't that be a shame, to give up my life to see if a damn cat has something for me?

She'll come back...

But what if she doesn't. She's the last living thing I know and she was given to me by my mother. The last gift I ever received from her, was my mother's old dying cat. Long white hair and a sweet pink tongue, who could resist that?

I'll save her.
I won't.
She doesn't know what's out there.
No one will save her if I don't.