…seen a creature quite like her. In the dim haze of the early barn, Peacock Cat found herself half-draped over a sunbeam, her tail splayed wide, catching the morning light. Dust motes spun and danced through the fan of her tail, turning the air into a shimmering, silent celebration. She watched the barn door with alert eyes; she could sense the weight of the world shifting, hear the footsteps of the farmer’s wife as she approached with her usual bucket and broom. The hens clucked a warning, their voices low—a ripple of unease moved through the straw.
The farmer’s wife paused at the threshold, her gaze lingering on Peacock Cat a fraction longer than on the others. It was not unkind, but there was a small, strained smile that pressed at the woman’s lips. She set down her bucket and quietly went about gathering eggs, her mind clearly elsewhere. Peacock Cat knew, in the silent way that cats know everything that matters, that something about her presence unsettled the humans.
A faint tremor ran beneath her paws as the barn’s old radio—muffled in the farmhouse window—spilled snatches of news into the morning. Something about the mysterious ‘phantaisa’ disease reached Peacock Cat’s sharp ears: words like "unexplained swelling," "strange eggs," and "danger to humans." The barn seemed to grow a little quieter, as if even the animals understood. A shiver skittered down her beautiful back, but she remained where she was, unwilling to retreat from the dazzling warmth of the sunlight.
Mother Cat padded over, her movements careful, her nose twitching with concern. She groomed Peacock Cat with extra care, each lick both affectionate and anxious. The farmer’s wife peered over for a moment, her brow furrowed. "Don’t let her stray too close, now," she murmured, as if talking to herself or to the barn air. "Best keep her apart. If the rumors are true…" Her voice trailed off, the words thick with fear and regret.
Peacock Cat understood she was different. The other kittens tumbled in a heap nearby, all giggles and pounces, but she sat with regal patience, her plume trailing through golden hay. Even the barn owl, perched in the rafters, watched her with round, unblinking eyes. There was respect in that gaze—and a warning.
Hours passed. The day grew brighter and warmer, shadows shrinking and shifting. Peacock Cat loitered close to the open barn door, her ears straining for the sounds of life beyond the farm: the wind in the meadow, distant laughter, the promise of adventure. But just as she was about to step out into the yard, a sudden commotion erupted. The farmer rushed in, red-faced and panting, waving a scrap of newspaper.
"It’s in the village now," he muttered, breathless. He looked directly at Peacock Cat. "People are saying it comes from her kind. Best keep her out of sight. We can’t afford trouble."
Mother Cat pressed herself protectively against Peacock Cat’s soft side, but the warning was clear, even to the most innocent of kittens. Peacock Cat’s heart beat faster, torn between the urge to prove herself safe and the ache of being shunned. She fixed her gaze on the open door—the world just beyond—and wondered what she truly was, and what fate awaited her.
On the threshold of the unknown, sunlight on her whiskers, she hesitated, ready to decide what sort of creature she wanted to become.