Red Socks

I laid down before her, my tail swishing the carpet silently as I watched her aged self take out a small bucket filled with spools. Her trembling and wrinkled fingers took one out, a beautiful red one, and began to expertly weave the thick string through a tiny-sized half-made sock. I stared at her before the scent of a mouse hit my truffle and I sprung up to chase after it as it ran noisily through the kitchen. I caught it just before it slipped into its hole and I proudly walked back towards her to show her my captured prey. She seemed to notice me and, after she put down her things, patted me softly between my ears. I purred and relished in the feeling of her fingers on my fur. Just as I was going to completely roll over my back so she could scratch my belly, something wet hit my ear. Reflexively I flicked it off before I raised my head to hers and dodged another incoming drop of water. She wiped her eyes and looked at me with a smile, though it felt a bit strange as it wasn't her usual happy smile.

The following day, as I was bathing in the morning sun, a sound came from the door. I remember once when I was outside seeing a two-legged animal like her with blue skin and a box in his hands press something just beside the door. It was a small round button and when touched, would release a series of mysterious bells going off in the house. That day, it was a similar sound and I quickly jumped over to the door to wait for her to open it so I could play outside. She paused and looked at me before she opened the door. I ran outside as I felt my whiskers shudder in the gently breeze that caressed my fur. I glanced at the two-legged outside the doors and felt a pang of familiarity with her. He didn't have wrinkles or curly silver hair like she did though. I paused as I passed a steeled monster that slept just before my home, seeing rows of boxes in its belly.

I met with other cats and played with them like jumping on fences or climbing trees. We even chased after a few stray rats and fled from raging and wet dogs. When I came back home, the big orb of light was already gone and a white pale one was hanging in the sky in its stead. I sprung over my home's low white fence and expected to see her with her arms wide open, waiting for me at the doorstep of a house filled with light and warmth. Instead, what I came about was a black and empty carcass of a home. I stepped into a mud-filled puddle and I tried to shake the loathsome liquid off before I stepped on something soft. I lifted my paw.

Four tiny hand-made red socks.