Now, what have we here?” Aunt said as Lillian came running up to her.
“It’s me, it’s me!” she cried. “Lillian.”
But unlike the squirrel and the crow, Aunt didn’t hear words, only a plaintive mewling. She smiled and picked Lillian up, scratching her under her chin. Lillian couldn’t help herself—she immediately started to purr.
“Where did you come from?” Aunt said. She looked off across the fields. “And where is that girl?”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Lillian cried from her arms.
But Aunt still couldn’t understand her. She carried her inside and gave her a saucer of milk, which Lillian immediately began to lap up because, as much as she didn’t want to be a cat, it was suppertime and she was hungry from the long day’s activities.
When she was done, she wove in and out between Aunt’s legs, but while Aunt would bend down to pat her, she was plainly worried and stood at the doorway looking out at where the dusk was drawing long shadows across the hillside.
They had no phone. They had no close neighbors. So eventually Aunt took the lantern and went out looking for her niece.
She made her way down to the creek first, Lillian trailing after her, still a kitten rather than a girl. Aunt walked almost a mile up the hollow, her lantern light bobbing in the dark woods, then crossed over the creek and came back the other way. Lillian followed behind, no longer trying to tell Aunt she was right here. If Aunt wasn’t going to listen to her, there was nothing she could do.
When they got back to the farm and Aunt went into the house, Lillian made her way to the barn. There were always cats there—maybe one of them was still hiding in some dark corner. She squeezed inside through a crack where the side door hung a bit loose. Something big stirred in the corner. Then Annabelle, Aunt’s milk cow, lifted her head. She blinked a couple of times before her gaze settled on Lillian.
“Hmm,” she said.
“Hello?” Lillian tried, not sure if the hmm was friendly or not.
“I haven’t seen a cat in here all day,” Annabelle said, “which is unusual enough on its own, but now when one of you finally does come in, there’s something not quite right about you.”
“That’s because I’m a girl, not a cat.”
“I see. That is, I don’t see the girl you say you are, but it does explain why I sense something strange about you. Have we met before? Because there’s also something familiar about you.”
“I’m Lillian.”
“Ah, yes, of course. It’s too bad you’ve changed. I always thought you had a firm but gentle grip.”
“I don’t have a grip at all now. I don’t even have hands.”
“I can see that, too. Mind you keep those claws away from my udder.”
“I will,” Lillian assured her. “I only came in to see if any of the cats were here. But you say they’re all gone?”
“Who knows what they’re up to?” Annabelle said. “You know cats. They’re a flighty bunch, going whichever way the wind blows. No offense.”
She shifted her bulk and Lillian felt the movement through the floorboards under her paws. She’d never realized just how huge Annabelle was.
“What do you want with the cats?” the cow asked.
“They’re the ones who changed me into a kitten.”
“Hmm. The old man won’t like that.”
“Old man?” Lillian asked. “Do you mean the Father of Cats?”
Annabelle nodded. “Though I wouldn’t be throwing his name around willy-nilly—not unless you want to call him to you.”
“I don’t. Jack Crow said he’s just like in the stories.”
“He is and he isn’t. Depends on what stories you’ve been listening to. But there’s no doubt he’s a caution.”
That was the sort of thing Aunt would say when she meant something was a little bit dangerous, so you should be careful.
“So you’ve been talking to Jack Crow?” Annabelle asked.
Lillian nodded and told her story.
“Hmm,” Annabelle said when Lillian was finished. “I like Jack Crow—he’s always full of gossip—but he’s a tricksy sort of a fellow. You’d do well to look closely at anything he tells you, just to make sure his advice serves you and not somebody else.”
“You mean he was lying to me?”
“Can’t say. Old Mother Possum might be able to help you, but she’s a bit of a caution herself.”
“Jack Crow says she’s part witch.”
“She is that, and maybe something older, too. But I suppose it can’t hurt to talk to her—just saying you find her in a good mood.”
That sounded less promising than Lillian would have liked.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked.
“Hmm.”
“If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”
“I think you should be comfortable with who you are,” Annabelle finally said.
“But I’m a girl.”
“You were a girl. Now you’re a cat.”
“But—”
“The trouble with magic,” Annabelle said, “is that it never really lets go. If you work one magic to undo another, you might end up with a bigger problem than you had in the first place.”
“You mean, if I’m turned back into a girl, I’ll be dying again. Or already dead.”
“That, too. But I was thinking more of how everything we do wheels and spins through the world around us, leaving its mark on everything else.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Annabelle said. “It just means I wasn’t being clear. Let me put it another way. Maybe there’s a reason why the snake bit you, the cats changed you, and you’re no longer a girl. Maybe there’s something you can learn from being a cat instead of a little girl.”
“What kind of something?”
Annabelle gave a slow shake of her head. “It’s not my journey, so how could I even begin to guess?”
Finding answers was as elusive as finding fairies, Lillian thought.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Annabelle said. “I always liked the little girl you were. Maybe you should go find Old Mother Possum. Maybe she can see a better way for you than I can.”
“I suppose,” Lillian said.
Annabelle gave another hmm—a long, slow one—and Lillian realized the cow had fallen asleep once more.
She thought of Jack Crow’s directions.
Just follow that split down into Black Pine Hollow—all the way to where the land goes marshy. Old Mother Possum’s got herself a den down there, under a big dead pine.
She supposed that was what she had to do: be brave and just go.
When she left the barn, she saw the bob of Aunt’s lantern, still searching through the meadow and the forest nearby. In a little while she’d probably go down the path to the Welches’ farm, and then they’d all be out looking for her. She wished she could assure Aunt that she was all right, but Lillian only had a cat’s voice, and Aunt didn’t know how to hear it. She could talk all she wanted, but Aunt would only hear the words as meows.
She turned to look the way she would have to go. The woods seemed very dark, and Jack Crow’s warning about dogs and foxes and coyotes rang in her ears. But there was no point in putting it off.
