The old cat was basking against the roots of a large tree, mindlessly grooming herself. Her tongue lapping over long fur. She breathed slowly, taking in the scents around her. In the wintery blizzard it made it hard to sunbath. Hard to find prey, harder to find comfort.
Her son had set off to hunt, she trusted him. He was capable, had always soaked in everything she could teach him. He could hold his own, but still she was his mother. She remembered him tripping over his own paws. Worrying over him was second nature. She gave him until sundown to return, then she’d allow worry to creep in. She knew he was looking for somewhere more sheltered, the roots of this tree barely provided shelter. It was not a long term solution.
She stood, pressing her paws up. Her long fur blowing in the wind. She hopped down from the tree’s roots. Watching a few birds fly over her. Taunting her. Her lil curled some, hissing at them.
Blue jays, crows, vultures. All the same. Waiting for her to die, for the rest of her line to die. Her tail lashed behind her, tearing her gaze away. No curse would get her, or her son.