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Torpor predominates the firmament, glum, remorseful. The shady sky, as if unwilling any further to let the godly rays of the sun touch the earth again, become darker, grosser. The wind that had been but an uncanny whiff of indulgent air now rises in fury, yet unbeknownst, howling like banshees in the congregation. 

The cat, long forgotten, perhaps dead, conveniently ignored by those that light up their hearths every evening to cook food for themselves and their children..they have closed yet again as a daily ritual their doors upon it since long. After all who would care for a beast...born in the wild, which must return to the wild?

Perhaps they didn't know, or maybe they did and chose to ignore, that this beast came to their homestead every evening in the cold, hungry, not for food, but a touch, a soft word, a gentle smile, and maybe a little space in some corner of their cozy, warm home to rest its head upon, and lie down a little, sleep a little...carefree, in peace. 

Food? Well, he was a born hunter, he could manage that for himself in the wild.

But asking for this was a little too much from them....those that light up their hearths in the evenings to cook food for themselves and their children....in their warm, cozy homes.

Yet it came every night, crouched upon the cold stones by the door of their home pensively, at first in hope that the door would open for him, which slowly led way to disbelief, and then despair when it didn't. With a heart that is punctured .....and unable to cry, that fears to accept that things can be mean, very very mean...he stood up and turned towards the dark forest that welcomed him, smiling its deep dark smile, the smile that hides secret wars, unknown friendships, and remorseless justice.

After some time it would silently tread off into the forests from whence it had emerged.....the wild one back into the wild while glancing back once or twice at the comfortably lit up windows of the home...of those that cook food for themselves and their children in the evenings.

Perhaps none ever saw that as it would retire back to the forest, its eyes would be watery, a streak of water running down those eyes....wild and awake. This water was what they called tears....those that lit up their homes every evening and cooked food for themselves and their children.

Then one night Providence decided to add a little spice into this bland soup.

A corpse turned inside its grave that night, the night when the storm shook the earth, the night when yonder by the graveyard strange men were seen walking down the path in a daze with their heads and arms on fire.

Earth was dragged down, the wood of the coffin was broken and she emerged out of the wilderness of the nether world.

She stood up, her body covered in rags, torn, ancient and tattered. Looking up at the sky that resembled the face of death itself, with dark clouds twirling ominously in fluid motion all around with the wind, a glimpse of the moon now and then...the wind now howling the tunes of the grim reaper, she yelled....and that cry shook the heart of the earth that night, for it was the cry of pain, the yell of despair emanating out of the heart of a mother. She yelled for her child, she cried for her baby, she was in torment. 

I am here momma...

Don't cry.....

The cat emerged out of the darkness....the wild one, the beast, jutting out of the shrubbery, and ran towards her. 

Seeing the cat, she stopped her horrendous yelling and kept looking at it...her ancient dead eyes trying hard to recognize....something. 

The silence in that interregnum was deathlike, except for the shrill evil demonic howl of the rising wind...

With extended arms and tears in her eyes, she pulled up the beast to her lap and kissed it...

My baby where have you been??

Mother, even when she smells of death, smells of motherhood, the latter overpowers the scent of death and the cat swooned in joy in her lap....it was feeling love, like sweet rainwater falling upon parched sands of a cruel desert after an eon.

Like this she stood on the hollow cavity of her grave holding the cat close to her bosom, kissing it, cuddling it, and saying softly...

Baby, cry no more, momma is back.

She started to walk, dazed, slow, and trembling out of years of confinement within the box of death six feet under the ground. In her lep the cat was now asleep, tucking in its tiny head comfortably over her shoulder. The dead had arisen ..... 

Through the night they walked...randomly.... and came near a house.....dark, very very dark. 

Before she could knock upon the door, the door opened and he emerged out, like a ghost, the silhouette of a man in the semblance of grim reaper himself and he looked at her straight in the eye. 

She smiled and said...her voice, the voice of the dead...

I found my baby and my baby needs a home

He said....glumly...

No one will let you or your baby in. They are all humans...They are sick, mean, selfish....all of them. It's their type. They are made this way.

She smiled again and said...in her dead voice...

But you aren't

Murmuring softly....he said, as she pulled open the door...

Come in mother...