In a quiet courtyard stitched with red stones and sprigs of grass, a cat ruled the rhythm of the day. Her fur was a cascade of gray and cream, thick as winter fog, and her green eyes held secrets older than the bricks beneath her paws.
She began her morning stretched across the cool concrete, soaking in the hush of dawn. The world stirred slowly around her grass blades swayed, a breeze whispered through the paving cracks but she remained still, watching. Not with suspicion, but with the calm certainty of one who knows she belongs.
Later, she shifted to her side, stripes rippling like shadows on water. Her gaze softened, curious and playful. A yellow flower bobbed nearby, and she twitched her whiskers at it, amused. This was her favorite hour when the sun warmed the stones and the air smelled of moss and possibility.
By afternoon, she sat upright, paws tucked beneath her like folded silk. Her coat shimmered in the light, and her eyes glowed with quiet thought. Nearby, metal legs of forgotten furniture cast long shadows, but she paid them no mind. She was content to observe, to listen, to be.
This cat was no wanderer. She was a sentinel of stillness, a keeper of calm. In her presence, even the wind seemed to pause, as if waiting for her approval.
And so the courtyard breathed with her alive, gentle, and just a little enchanted.
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.
