Ah, Luthier, a man after my own heart. Kitties are some of the best friends you can have. If they like you, that is!
Every village had its share of stray cats. It was almost an unspoken law. One never traveled to any village, large or small, without seeing at least a half dozen stray cats. In every village, there was always those who fed and talked to the cats, and there were the grouches who would swat at them with brooms to try to run them off, though the cats never stayed away.
There was also that one person who went above and beyond when it came to the cats of the village. In his village, that happened to be the mage, Luthier.
Others might have found it odd, but Luthier knew every cat and kitten on sight. He never named them for fear of confusion, as everyone seemed to have a name for the cats, but he knew their colors, patterns, and mannerisms. He was on friendly terms with most of the cats in the village, from the young litter of white and black spotted kittens who ran, mewling excitedly, when they saw him, to the old one-eyed gray striped female who waited impatiently to be fed.
Many of the cats would let him pet them. Some would just take a rub between the ears before they trotted away while the younger kittens would allow him to hold them. But one was moody, always hissing and spitting at him before darting away. Luthier had never done anything to offend the feline. It was clear the cat did not trust any human, not even a friendly soul.
Despite the cat's temperament, when Luthier did not see the cat for days, he became concerned.
He spent hours searching the village, looking high and low for the cat. It was a wily cat, but Luthier worried that a dog or other animal had gotten it. Cats had gone missing before, and Luthier often assumed the worst. Sometimes they returned. Sometimes they did not.
With a sigh, he sat down one of the large, wooden crates beside a storage building. As he sat, he heard a noise. "Hello?" he called. Then he heard it again: a low, rumbling growl.
Luthier bolted up and pushed aside the crate. There was a hole in the side of one of the crates, big enough for a cat to fit through but too small for Luthier. The sunlight caught the sheen of eyes for a brief moment before the cat ducked back into the shadows of the box. Luthier had found the missing kitty.
Luthier dropped to his hands and knees and tried to wriggle between the crates as slow as he could. As he grew closer, the cat growled again. Luthier stopped where he was. "Are you all right?" he asked. He knew, of course, the cat could not answer him, but he had to ask anyway. "Are you hurt?" The cat let out a feeble mew. "Here, let me help - "
The young mage reached for the cat. Despite being wounded, the cat fought back, spitting and scratching. Luthier drew his bleeding hand back. Despite taking wounds from the animal, he was still determined. "I'll be back," he promised the cat.
He was afraid the cat would retreat as he ran home. If the cat left, he might not be able to find it again. He had to hurry.
His original idea had be to remove the cat and bring it home, but it would cause the creature distress. Leaving it outside was also not going to be good for it. Luthier grabbed whatever he could think of, deciding it would be best to let the cat's demeanor determine what path he took. He bundled everything from a little food to a tin of salve in an old blanket. As he left with his bundle, he nearly knocked over his sister in his haste. Delthea scowled at him and grabbed the sleeve of his robes to stop him.
"Where do you think you're going with all of that?" she demanded. Before he could answer, she noticed the blood on his hand. "And what happened to you?"
"Hmm?" Luthier had forgotten the cat even scratched him. "Don't worry, it's mostly stopped bleeding. I'll be home soon, Delthea!"
"Lu!"
Delthea hurried after her brother, an annoyed groan at her lips. What could her odd brother be up to now? She followed him to a stack of crates and rolled her eyes as he dropped to all fours, his bundle in front of him. She could hear his soft voice as Luthier spoke in gentle tones. She did not need to hear what he was saying to know what he was doing.
She had no doubt a cat was involved.
She stomped over to her brother and tugged at the back of his robes. "Lu, leave that old cat alone!" she hissed.
"There is nothing old about this cat, Delthea," Luthier countered. His voice was slightly muffled. "He's young," he added, "and wounded."
A low growl reached their ears. "He doesn't want your help," Delthea pointed out. "Cats know how to take care of themselves."
"If you were wounded, wouldn't you want someone to tend to you?"
"Yes," Delthea said, "which is why I would go to a healer!" She continued to pull at her brother's clothing. The cat continued to growl, low and quiet, until Delthea managed to dislodge her older brother from the crates. In the time it took her to move him, he had stuffed the old blanket into the hole, along with some salted fish, and left everything else between the crates. Even though she had managed to extract her brother, Delthea knew Luthier would return for the cat whenever he could.
For the next several days, Luthier visited the cat in his makeshift hiding place. The food he took it was always gone, but it did not come out for days so he could see how badly wounded the creature was. It took three days for the cat to pop a paw out to slap at the food Luthier offered it. It sunk its claws into the piece of meat and dragged it into the crate. "At least you're eating," Luthier told the cat. "That's a good sign."
The next day, the cat had its dark head sticking out from the hole, waiting. It mewed loudly when it saw Luthier. "Good morning," he greeted the feline. He did not offer it food immediately. The young man took the chance to look over the cat. On its head, he saw a few scratches, one of them deep, but all seemed to be healing well. He reached out to touch it, his other hand close to the tin of salve he had left behind days ago. The cat ducked back in the hole, hissing and slapping at him.
"All right," he conceded. Its wounds were healing, and that was the important part.
He offered the meat he had brought, a chunk of ham. The cat's black nose appeared at the hole, its whiskers twitching as it smelled the meat. It darted its paw out of the hole, snatched the meat, and pulled it back in the crate. Luthier chuckled, pleased with the cat's progress.
The following morning, Luthier was even more surprised to see the cat sitting outside of the crate, almost as if it was impatiently waiting for him. Its scratches were more obvious, and it held one front paw, the one it did not use to swipe food, off the ground. "Hello," Luthier greeted it. "Does your paw hurt?"
The cat's long tail swished behind it.
"Do you want food?" Luthier asked with a smile. He unwrapped a small bundle that contained freshly cooked fish. He then placed the meal in front of the cat, who sniffed it nervously. The cat looked to Luthier and stretched out towards the fish. It took a small, dainty bite, then took several huge bites after it realized how good the fish was. "Slow down!" Luthier chuckled. The cat paid him no mind. After the food disappeared into its mouth, the cat sat there, eyeing Luthier and licking its chops. It meowed once, perhaps asking for more. Luthier vowed to return with a larger piece of meat for it in the morning.
His next trip to check on the cat turned out to be the last. Fear sunk into the young mage's heart as the cat was not by the box and waiting as it had the previous morning. He looked around desperately, wildly, afraid the cat had relapsed or succumbed to its wounds despite how well it had been doing.
He looked around the storage building, looking high and low for places for a cat to hide. Had he approached it too much? Did he frighten the poor kitty cat?
Luthier stopped dead in his tracks as he rounded the back of the building in his search. The cat was there, crouched low, ears down on its head. It moved so quickly that Luthier almost did not notice. Nor did its prey, a plump bird who pecked at the ground behind the building, realize it was being stalked. Luthier smiled and backed away from the building, careful to not disturb the cat during its hunt.
He crouched before the crate that the cat had taken for a temporary home. Quietly, he removed the blanket and began to pack up everything that remained of what he had brought. Outside the crate, he left the meal he had brought for the cat, just in case its hunt did not succeed.
While a small portion of him had hoped for the cat to allow a thank you pet, seeing it out and hunting was more thanks than the cat could have given him otherwise.