Buster’s Home

The morning I arrived, rain hit the big see-through wall in silver sheets. This wasn’t the gentle rain of my barn birthplace. City rain struck the clear barrier like tiny paws that demanded entry. I didn’t know this see-through wall would become my universe’s center. I didn’t know lives would cross here. I didn’t know truths would appear in the changing light of a single hot season.

I only knew how small I felt against this big new world.

The Giant with the Soft Voice set me down. I trembled on something soft that smelled of strangers. My whiskers twitched as I looked at the unfamiliar soft things and corners and shadows. Nothing held my mother’s scent. Nothing reminded me of my siblings’ bodies.

“You’ll be fine,” said Soft Voice from somewhere above. I didn’t believe it. The rain kept hitting. It marked time in a rhythm I couldn’t understand.

Other cats inhabited this strange place. From my spot on the unfamiliar soft thing, I saw a black and white cat. She dressed in mostly black with a white bib, white mittens, and white boots. I wore mostly white with black for my cap and back. I was plain compared to her formal attire. She watched from the top of a tall thing with shelves. Her tail hung over the edge, curved like a question. Her eyes met mine. They seemed older than time and thoroughly unimpressed.

In the long narrow space between rooms, a black cat studied me. His sleek, ebony fur absorbed the shadows about him, so much so that he was almost nothing but a pair of glowing green eyes. Still, he looked neither welcoming nor mean. He calculated, as if he measured how much trouble I might cause.

“The old cat watches from above,” I thought. I glanced up at the silent watcher. “And the dark one guards the door.” I did not know I had stumbled into long-established territories and routines. I only knew my smallness against their bigness.

———

People who have never been the smallest in a new place do not fully understand the importance of the right hiding spot. I found mine under the big soft sitting thing. Dust piled in soft mountains there, and I found old toys no one played with anymore. The vacuum monster visited rarely, and my spot gave me a good view to watch everything.

From here, I learned the patterns of the place.

Giants with Different Shoes came and went. Their feet marked the hours as reliably as the sunlight that crawled across the floor. The one with Gentle Hands filled food bowls twice daily. The one with Rumbling Voice dropped tiny morsels that no one else claimed.

The black cat owned the middle cushion of the big soft thing and the spot beside the cold box. The black and white cat came each morning to sit in the sunlight rectangle on the soft floor. She left precisely when the light did, as if the spot had fulfilled its purpose. I still searched for my place, testing each spot like a cautious explorer in a new land.”

But I noticed something even more important. The edge of the big see-through wall mattered most. It offered the perfect view of the small flying things and the quick furry jumpers and small, mysterious moving things. The dark one spent afternoons there, whipping his tail back and forth as if in a running commentary, while the old one sat there when the sky darkened and stayed still while the shadows stretched across the outside territory.

I decided I would claim that spot, too.

———

“Personal space, Buster,” the dark one hissed one time when I came too close to the see-through wall edge. “I don’t suggest it. I require it.”

I backed away, confused by the strange word. “Buster?”

He looked down at me in surprise. “That’s what the Giants call you,” he said with a flick of his tail. “Weren’t you listening? They have many names for us. I’m Homer, according to them. And the old one up there is Madam.”

I had never considered I might have a name beyond myself. “Why do Giants do this? Give us names?”

Homer yawned, showing all his teeth. “You never question why Giants do anything, so long as they clean the dirt box on the regular. They have many names for us. I answer to ‘Little Man’ and ‘Stop that’ as well as Homer.”

I wanted to see what fascinated him outside, what held his attention for so long, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this new information.

“You wouldn’t understand anyway,” Homer added. I hadn’t asked. “You still smell like hay and mother’s milk. Only serious cats use this lookout.”

I didn’t know what made a cat serious. It probably involved lots of stillness and staring. I excelled at neither.

Later, at dark-time, I watched Madam take her place at the see-through wall. She didn’t hiss or swat when I came near. She ignored me completely. That hurt worse.

“What do you see out there?” I asked. My voice sounded small.

Madam only stared outward. I thought she hadn’t heard me, or she chose to stay silent.

Then she spoke in an old and reserved voice.

“Time.”

And nothing more.

———

Hot time days in the new den continued endlessly. The air felt thick and sticky. Sometimes it felt nice; sometimes it made my fur too hot. I liked to lie on the food place floor in the sun spots. I loved to chase tiny dust bits that floated in the light. I learned that shoelaces only matter when feet wear them, and I learned I will never catch the red dot that sometimes appeared on walls.

But I didn’t learn how to belong.

“You try too hard,” Homer told me one day. I had just tried to play with him using a crumpled receipt. “That’s your problem.”

“What does trying the right amount look like?”

Homer thought about this. “Less,” he finally said. He went back to grooming his already clean paws.

So I tried less. I stopped pouncing on Homer’s tail when it swished. I stopped chattering at Madam during her important staring sessions with the outside world. I stopped racing across the smooth cold floor when the Giants opened the food thing.

Nothing changed, except I felt more invisible than before.

Then came the Great Booming. The sky turned the color of Madam’s black and white coat. Rain slashed at the see-through walls like it wanted to break them. Thunder shook the den to its bones.

I hid beneath the big flat thing with legs. I felt the shake in my whiskers, the terror in my bones. The sound differed completely from the gentle rumble of those big moving things on the farm. For hours, the world broke apart around me.

The sky boomed and bright white light filled the room. Eyes shone in the preceding darkness and I saw Madam watching me from the doorway.

“Come,” she said. She spoke so quietly I wasn’t sure I heard her.

The next big crash sent me darting across the floor to where Madam waited. She turned without checking if I followed. She led me to a place I’d never visited; a small enclosed space, door ajar, where old soft things formed a nest in one corner.

“The noise can’t find you here,” she said, as she settled onto the soft things.

I hesitated before I climbed into the nest beside her. She surprised me by staying put. Her body felt warm, though her bones felt brittle beneath her fur. Another big crash came, but here, surrounded by walls and soft things and Madam’s presence, it seemed less world-ending.

“Did storms scare you when you were small?” I asked.

She stayed quiet for so long that I thought she ignored me again. Then she answered, “I was never as small as you.”

I didn’t think this true — all cats start small — but I understood she meant something else. Courage, perhaps. Or certainty.

“Will I get bigger?” I asked.

“Yes, but not how you expect.”

We sat in silence while the booms boomed outside. Soon, I fell asleep without hiding first.

———

When the light returned, I found Homer staring intently at something beneath the big, cold humming box.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said without looking at me. “This moth belongs to me.”

“What is a moth?”

“Brown flappy thing.”

“Oh.” I turned and sat at a respectful distance, trying not to show my excitement less. “Is it a good moth?”

“An excellent moth. Top-quality wings. First-rate antennae… And completely out of reach.”

I studied the narrow gap. I watched Homer’s wide paw struggle to reach underneath.

“I could help,” I offered. “I’m smaller.”

Homer gave me a skeptical look. “You’d retrieve my moth and just… give it to me?”

“We could share it.”

“Things don’t work that way around here,” he snorted.

“How do things work around here?”

He seemed stumped by this question. Finally, he sighed dramatically and moved aside. “Fine. Show me what you can do, barn cat.”

I approached the gap. My size suited it perfectly. I reached my paw into the dark. I felt dust and crumbs and finally, the silky flutter of wings. I hooked the thing and pulled it out into the light.

The moth, stunned but alive, lay between us.

“Well,” Homer said. His whiskers twitched with what might have been approval. “That wasn’t… terrible.”

The moth suddenly revived and fluttered upward. We both leaped at the same time. We collided in midair. The moth escaped to the ceiling while Homer and I landed in a heap.

I feared punishment. Then Homer did something unexpected. He made a funny sound. It reminded me of when the Giants crumple the thin crinkly stuff.

“The best ones always escape,” he said. Then, awkwardly, “Good hunting. For a beginner.”

———

The hot time when days stay bright longer brought more sunlight through the see-through wall. I noticed Madam slept more and watched less, and her breaths sometimes labored in the heat.

One especially warm bright-time, I saw her try to jump onto the edge of the see-through wall. Her back legs betrayed her at the last moment. I pretended not to notice and gave her time to gather her dignity before I approached.

“It feels very hot today,” I said. I spoke as if this topic mattered most.

She gave me a look. She knew my trick but I think she appreciated the pretense.

“The edge of the see-through wall gets the best moving air,” she said. “I’ve sat there every hot season since before the Tall Giant was tall.”

I thought about this. “I could help you up — not that you need help.”

She studied me. “What would you want in return?”

“Maybe… you could show me what to look for out there.” I nodded toward the outside world. “I keep staring, but I don’t think I do it right.”

A whisker twitched. Madam’s version of a smile.

“Acceptable terms.”

We worked out a system together. I braced myself against the wall. I then created a step-up with my back that she could use to reach the edge. We struggled at first, through many adjustments and several near-falls, but eventually we succeeded.

We sat side by side on the edge of the see-through wall, and Madam began my education.

“Watching doesn’t mean seeing everything; it means seeing the right things.”

She taught me which birds visited our windowsill in the morning versus afternoon. She showed me how to tell which neighborhood cats merely passed through and which ones claimed territory. Most importantly, she taught me how to watch without pressing against the glass and scaring everything away.

“This place shows us the world, but keeps us separate from it. Learn to enjoy the watching itself.”

———

Soon the hot-time brought special light through the see-through wall. Golden and thick, like that sweet sticky stuff from the jar the Giants sometimes left open. I had grown, though I remained the smallest of the three. My fur shone now, thanks to good food and Homer’s occasional grudging grooming sessions.

“You can’t be seen with me looking like you slept in the garden,” he explained the first time he pinned me down for a bath. “It reflects poorly on all of us.”

I no longer hid beneath the big sitting things unless we played a game. I knew the timing of meals and the patterns of Giants and the locations of the warmest sunlight patches throughout the day. I still didn’t nap on Homer’s cushion, but sometimes he would shift over slightly. I recognized this as an invitation.

The day my belly hurt began like any other. The Gentle Giant fed me breakfast. I chased light with Homer. I checked all the important spots, with special attention to the space behind the water bowl room, which I claimed as my responsibility.

Then I discovered the strange-smelling green thing the Giants brought inside. It had enticing green parts that waved pleasingly in the air. I knew I shouldn’t. The Giants had said “No” in that tone that actually meant no. But the green parts looked so perfect for biting.

Just one, I thought. Just a small taste.

By dark-time, my stomach rebelled. The room spun in circles. The Gentle Giant made worried sounds and put me in the small moving box. That box usually meant the terrible place with fear smells and the cold, shiny surface.

Through my misery, I vaguely noticed Madam and Homer watching as the Giant carried me away with worry on their faces.

When I returned, weak and smelling of medicine, I expected to recover alone. Cats don’t look after each other, Homer often said. Instead, I found Madam had moved to the floor beside my bed and stood guard in the dark.

“You don’t have to stay,” I murmured, trying to hold back my nausea and embarrassment.

“I know that,” she replied and settled more firmly in place.

In the doorway, Homer appeared, twitching his tail with nervousness.

“Will he die?” he asked Madam, as if I couldn’t hear him.

“Not today,” she answered.

“Good,” Homer said, too quickly. “Because I need someone to help me get the toys from under the hot food box.”

But instead of leaving, he circled three times and then curled up near the door, effectively blocking anyone from entering or exiting without his permission.

I drifted to sleep between their watchful presences. And then, I understood something important that I couldn’t yet name or put to words.

———

The last hot-time days brought loud sky-noises. I no longer feared them. In fact, I enjoyed how they gathered the household together in peaceful silence.

On one such noisy day, I sat on the edge of the see-through wall between Madam and Homer. We watched bright flashes light up the outside place in quick bursts. None of us spoke. None of us needed to.

The rain hit the see-through wall in silver sheets, just like the morning I arrived. But now I understood its rhythm, its purpose, its temporary nature. I understood that the see-through wall wasn’t just a barrier. It framed life. It let me observe and measure what mattered.

“The old cat watches from above,” I thought. I glanced at Madam beside me. The phrase now felt like a prayer rather than an observation. It acknowledged something constant in a changing world.

She must have felt my eyes on her, because she turned to me.

“What do you see out there?”

I looked out at the rain-washed world and considered it. Beyond sprawled the big unknown, with small flying things and weather and mysteries I might never solve. But here, on our side, something big and important existed.

I realized that home isn’t where others make space for you; it’s where your absence would leave a cat-shaped hole in the fabric of daily life. I thought of Homer circling three times before lying at my door when I was sick. I remembered Madam standing guard. Their bodies flanked mine now, like a living boundary, with neither one having to be here, yet choosing to remain.

“Home,” I answered.

One word. But in it, everything.

Madam nodded once, then she turned back to the rain. We watched the droplets race down the glass.

The old cat watches from above. The dark one guards the door. And I — I had found my place between them.

She added nothing more. She had nothing left to teach.