A Close Call with a Cat

Williyar, still a little unsteady despite the inventor’s earnest advice, found himself drawn to the open sky again. The wings, a magnificent, feathery expanse of white, felt both a part of him and utterly alien. He’d spent the morning attempting graceful loops, only to end up performing a series of panicked somersaults that would have impressed a distressed tumbleweed. He’d managed to stay airborne, mostly, but ‘graceful’ was a word that seemed to have flown the coop, much like Williyar himself often felt he was about to.

He was practicing a gentle glide, trying to coax the wings into a smooth descent over the quiet suburban rooftops, when a flash of ginger fur caught his eye. A plump tabby cat, sleek and self-important, was sunning itself on a particularly inviting patch of shingles. Williyar, lost in his concentration, leaned a little too far to the left. The wings, ever eager to respond to his slightest twitch, dipped sharply. It wasn’t a dive, not exactly, but it was a sudden, swooping movement that ruffled the air with an alarming whoosh.

The tabby, rudely awakened from its sun-drenched reverie, bolted upright. Its eyes, wide saucers of emerald green, fixed on the descending shadow. To the cat, it must have looked like a giant, flapping predator, descended from the heavens with ill intent. A low, guttural hiss escaped its throat, and with a flick of its tail, it was off.