I do not remember my mother, nor my siblings or even if I had any. The first thing I can recall, is the lushness of grass, the smell of sea and the small hands of a ginger child.

She picked me up and I hissed and spat, I was small then, even in her hands. A ginger cat, for a ginger child

How I loved her, and her children, and even their children. I remember her ginger hair going gray, her bright eyes going pale. I remember when they buried her in a mound, I did not leave her side for a week.

But the village began to talk, about the redheaded family and their ginger cat. They called me a fairy, a changeling.

But I knew I was not of the fey or their ilk, I was one of God’s creatures.

We left, on boat across the sea, to a land far away. A new land.

Years went by, I continued to live. Passed off between kin, just the grumpy old family cat.

Too many faces, unrecognizable, too many mice, too much time. There was no more ginger children to love and sleep on. Home felt so very far away. I dreamt of the mound, covered in soft grass, the wind so strong it could pick you up. The smell of the sea, so fresh in my lungs.

But now I stare out, high above a gray city. The home of a young couple, who took me reluctantly. They expect their first child any day now, but I cannot find myself excited anymore. I just lounge, and do cat things, for I am too old for anything else.

They came home with their newborn child that night. A girl, with a tuff of ginger hair