The Cat Who Grew Wings

Sorrel was a grey tabby cat with green eyes. He lived in a little city house with a little city garden. His owner, a nice lady named Alicia Barnhardt, was very kind to him. Once a week she bought him a fresh salmon fillet (which was, admittedly, rather indulgent, but she rather liked the man who worked at the local fishmonger's and thus took any excuse to pay a visit). Sorrel was a lucky cat. He spent his days lounging in the sun, or curled up in strange positions around the house, such as the laundry basket or the bathroom sink. Alicia even turned a blind eye when he scratched the furniture.

But deep inside Sorrel's little feline soul was a kind of primal sadness. Some days he would just walk around the tiny garden in circles, looking down mournfully at its hard, expensive paving, and looking up longingly at the high brick walls. Sorrel wasn't sure why (he was a cat) but he wanted nothing more than to leap those walls. He felt like there was something more he should be doing with his claws, other than putting scratches in Ikea furniture. He felt like his teeth should be sinking into something other than soft-fleshed salmon. It wasn't something he specifically thought of course. But each time he bit down into it, it was as if it gave way too easily. Like that feeling you get when, climbing the stairs, you put a foot down for the last step only to find thin air. Or when, after a drastic haircut, you brush your hair and your arm just falls away too soon. His life lacked substance.

One evening, when Alicia sat stroking Sorrel's silky coat after a long day at work, she felt something a little strange. A slight bump above his shoulder blade. He mrroowwlled when she touched it. Concerned, she felt the other side, only to find the same thing there. Had they always been there? Could they be tumours? Tumours don't grow symmetrically, surely not. Alicia phoned the vet. The only appointment he could give her was next Tuesday evening. It was only Monday. She hoped, in that case, that it was nothing serious.

The next day, however, the bumps seemed to have gotten bigger. It was nothing short of bizarre. But Sorrel didn't seem to be in much pain. He carried on his usual feline activities - sofa scratching and sink napping - without giving them much thought. They kept growing, though.  They grew larger every day, big lumps under his fur that felt like they contained bones, that pushed upwards and outwards. By Sunday night, Alicia could hardly bear to touch them. They protruded in a way that was almost wing-like. But how could a cat grow wings? Sorrel had begun to act very strangely, too. He spent long hours just staring at the sky, or trying to open the Velux windows in the bedroom with his forepaws (to no effect).

By Monday evening, the lumps were undoubtedly wing-like. But Alicia was rather hysterical at this point, because, apart from the fish-man, Sorrel was the love of her life. She hastily fetched the cat carrier as soon as she got home from work. She needed to take him to the vet as soon as possible.

Sorrel saw the cat carrier and immediately decided he was having none of it. He scrrROOWWLLed  and scampered up the stairs, Alicia hot on his furry little heels squealing NOOOoo darrlling, come baaack! Sorrel scurried into the bathroom, where, to Alicia's horror, she had left the window open. He bounded onto the toilet, up onto the window sill, and leapt right out. Alicia SCREAAAMED. She ran to the window to look out, bracing herself to see a cat pancake lying on her expensive paving stones. But Sorrel was not there, nor was he a pancake. Mysteriously, he was perched in a tree in the neighbour's garden. A pair of glorious, furry wings folded neatly on his tabby back. Then he leapt and glided down onto Alicia's high garden wall, but Alicia didn't see, because she'd fainted.

Now Sorrell flies joyfully from tree to tree, hunting sparrows and squirrels and fat city pigeons. Sinking his claws into tender flesh and feeling the satisfactory crack of bones under his sharp little teeth. And feeling the wind in his whiskers as he flies above roof tops, chasing crows.