prelude to an adventure

The last thing Kingsley was expecting on a sunny, but cool, Tuesday morning was to find himself toe to nose with a particularly silky black cat.  

On this particular Tuesday morning, he was taking the long way to work, hoping to distract himself from the horrors of grading midterm papers with the duck pond around the corner from his university office. Kingsley rarely took the long way to work, usually because he tended to hit the snooze button one too many times before leaping up and frantically throwing on his clothes and grabbing his book bag. He had forgotten how peaceful it was at this time of day, the dewdrops gathering on the grass and the ducks slowly waking in the long sunbeams, their sleepy quacks echoing across the park.  

But he didn’t expect the cat.  

He had been watching a mallard lazily paddling around the pond when he glanced down to find the cat sitting at his feet, perfectly still, paws neatly tucked in as it sat primly on the gravel path.  

“Hello,” Kingsley said, because his mother had taught him to treat every creature with dignity and respect.  

“Hello,” said the cat, and Kingsley jumped back, tripped on the bag he’d forgotten he’d set down, and fell into the pond.  

By the time he surfaced, Kingsley’s shirt was soaked through, his hair sticking wetly to his forehead, his shoes filled with the sludge of the duck pond. The mallard, meanwhile, was continuing its figure-eights around him. When he looked at the bank, the cat was still there with an expression that could only be described as haughty on its furry face.  

“You spoke,” Kingsley said.  

“Of course I spoke,” said the cat. “Have you never spoken to a cat before?”  

“No,” Kingsley said honestly. “I didn’t know cats could speak English.”  

The cat gave him a long, slow blink.  

Kingsley read once that a long, slow blink from a cat meant that it loved you. Or cared for you. Or at least didn’t mind your presence. Seeing this particular cat on this particular Tuesday morning giving that particular long, slow blink, however, made him think that the “researchers” who reported on cat blinks were probably not very knowledgeable at all.  

“Most cats can’t,” the cat said finally.  

“Right,” said Kingsley, still sitting in the pond. He was fairly certain there was a small fish floating around in his jacket pocket now. “But may I ask, why are you speaking to me?”  

“You are Kingsley Ferrier, aren’t you?” the cat asked.  

“I am,” Kingsley said, more than a little confused as another duck began circling him.  

“Then you are exactly who I am meant to be speaking with,” the cat said.  

“I’m afraid you still haven’t told me why you’re speaking with me, though.”  

“Well,” said the cat, lifting one dainty paw and licking it gently. “Because you’re about to save the universe.”