The first time Miso felt the breeze by the canal, he stuck his tongue out like he was trying to taste the day, and it tasted like warm stone, cool water, and a little bit of bravery. He sat there in his tiny black harness, fluff glowing cream at the edges, and looked up as if someone had just whispered, Ready?
A duck quacked in the distance. Miso’s ears tilted. His mouth fell open into that round, joyful O every cat owner secretly lives for the one that says, Oh! So this is what outside feels like. He didn’t pounce or strut. He just beamed, the way small suns do when they learn they can rise on their own.
Leaves skittered along the pavement, and he counted them like new friends, one by one, a quiet purr for each. When the leash tugged, he didn’t fight it, he let it be a hand to hold, a soft reminder that courage is easier with company. He blinked slow, as if signing a little contract with the afternoon, I’ll show up if you keep being this kind.
By the time the light thinned and the ducks tucked their stories under their wings, Miso had learned something useful and perfectly ordinary how to sit with wonder without needing to chase it. On the walk home, he carried that lesson in his tail, swishing it like a ribbon, and every now and then he turned back to smile, just to make sure the world knew he’d be back tomorrow for another taste.
Shannon Willis can usually be found in the company of furry friends. A passionate animal enthusiast, her work is often inspired by her deep love for cats, dogs, and the animal kingdom as a whole.
