(When we last left Raven the cat he acquired his fuchsia headphones, to catch up click here.)
On the fourth day of Raven’s adventure, the edge of forever began to change. Bits of green poked through the red rocks, and Raven had to go more slowly as the edge began to slope ever so slightly up. Where rocks had been Raven’s constant companion, trees scraggled to the surface. Raven didn’t know quite where he was going, and he was so very worried he would miss where he was supposed to be, so he chose his steps carefully, sure to never go too fast but deliberate to never go too slow.
Occasionally, he would stop to rest his weary paws and take a moment to clean his whiskers. Whenever he stopped, after finding a safe place where he could see all around, Raven would slide the pink headphones to his ears. Listening to the sounds within made his tiny kitty-cat heart beat with excitement. Some songs wailed and reminded him of the sad days when he was alone in his glass house atop the hill. Some songs had no words, but made him think of butterflies floating on the afternoon sun. Some songs made his tail twitch and his hind-quarters switch in time to the bass line. The last kind of song made him want to meow along, but he hadn’t yet learned the melodies well enough to try. Just as he thought he may finally have it well enough to try, a flutter to his right made him leap to all fours.
Raven’s fur jumped from his skin as he arched his back and poofed his tail. His earphones were knocked from his ears, and slid back into their resting spot on his neck, as a hiss burst from his black lips. His almond eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon for the source of the interrupting movement.
“Tweet, twitter, tweet tweet, chirp.” A bird called from a tree-branch a few feet above Raven’s heads. The fat yellow bird hopped up and down the limb over Raven’s head raining down a stream of twitters and chirps.
Now Raven didn’t speak bird, he only spoke cat. And all of the cat in him was saying that a bird might taste pretty good. But to eat a bird one would have to catch a bird, and that seemed a task all too daunting to the naturally timid Raven. As he pondered all it would take to catch the bird, he heard the chirps and the tweets from above. Now to Raven this bird didn’t sound like he wanted to be eaten. And one can tell a lot from the tone of someone’s (or in this case something’s) voice. The longer he sat Raven realized this bird didn’t sound like lunch or angry or sad, he sounded… curious. That was it, the bird sounded like a curious, flying, chatterbox.
Raven smoothed his black fur down to it’s normal non-sticking up height and settled back onto his haunches.
The bird hopped down a branch and bobbed his head at Raven.
Raven sniffed the air, and sensing no danger from the flying featherweight overhead, bobbed his head in response.
“Chirp, cheep.” The bird inquired.
“Meow.” Raven replied.
And that is how Raven, the cat, met Felix, the bird.