The Pussycat and the Butterfly - Part 2

PART TWO

The next day it was raining so hard it sounded like tennis balls were bouncing off the ground and back up to the heavens again. Alasdair liked to watch the rain, he snuggled up against the radiator indoors and grinned at his fortune of having a lovely, comfortable home to live in, safe and secure with his lovely mummy and daddy. 

Suddenly, his mood changed as he thought of his new friend. Poor Arabella. She lived in the bushes. What if the rain ruined her wonderful wings. He remembered his favourite T-shirt that used to be so bright and full of his best colours. Then his mum put it in the washing machine and it came out torn and pale. What if all the colour drained out of Arabella’s wings and she was left pale, with only her veins displaying any form of colour she previously had. What if the rain was so hard and so heavy that it tore her delicate wings. He must go and save her. He must go now!

He dashed out of the back door and into the garden where the bushes were. 

“Arabella”, he shouted. 

Nothing. 

“Arabella!”, he cried again. 

Nothing. 

“ARABELLA!!”, he was getting panicky now. 

He went deep into the bushes to find her. His eyes were filling with the rain and tears and his coat was soaked right through to his skin. He feared for her life as his search became more frantic. What if she had disintegrated. 

He remembered now her saying she lived amongst the trees as well as the bushes. He looked up at the huge tree next to him. There was nothing else for it. He had to climb it. All the while shouting her name over and over again. 

Hours passed by and she wasn’t to be found. Alasdair gave in. His tummy was rumbling and he really really needed to go to the toilet. He gave a few more cries of his friends name. 

Nothing.

Head held low, he made his way down the tree. His fur mantled with dirt and leaves, he went inside to his warm and cosy home. He just wanted a big cuddle from his dad now to make it all better. He was so big and strong, that when he was with him, he felt like nothing bad could ever happen. But first, he went to the kitchen to eat three bananas to calm the roaring hunger in his tummy and a slice of cheese to make him feel closer to his flying friend.

The night passed by slowly. Alasdair couldn’t sleep. He felt so bad that he couldn’t find his friend. That he’d failed at their friendship. He felt that, even though they had only spent a few moments together, he’d never have a friend quite like Arabella. Where he was free to be himself and not try to be someone he wasn’t. When he did finally drift off, he kept having nightmares that jerked him awake, and then he was back to thinking sad and scary thoughts again. It was a very long night.

The next morning he felt no better. The rain had all but dried up and there were only some muddy puddles left around the garden. 

“Right, this time, I’m going to find her. And I won’t return until I have”, said Alasdair into the air. “I just have to think positive and then it will happen”. 

Alasdair went back into the garden to search for his best friend. He looked all around the sky in the hope that she’d suddenly appear from thin air, as if she’d always been flying around, even through the rainstorm. 

She wasn’t there. 

He went back into the bushes and searched from top to bottom, left to right, inspecting every leaf, every weed and every part of wet and mucky soil. 

She wasn’t there. 

He climbed up the huge tree and went in between every branch, sniffing and scratching and becoming more and more anxious as his positive thoughts swiftly changed to the opposite. 

She wasn’t there.

He held his paw over his mouth at the tragic thought of her lifeless wings floating in one of the puddles. 

She wasn’t there. He was very thankful for that. 

His nose prickled and his lip trembled. Alasdair gave in and had a good cry right there in the puddle. He sobbed loud and free. His poor poor friend. She was much too lovely not to be here anymore. 

His mouth was so sad, that when he eventually did go back inside, it drooped over his rice crispies and he hadn’t even the energy to lap up his milk. 

“It’s not fair”, said Alasdair as a little snotter dropped onto his spoon.  

He thought of their conversation. Short as it was, and remembered some of the things that Arabella liked to do to relax. Maybe if he relaxed his mind enough, he would feel better. What was it she liked to do again? To feel her senses. She liked to create things. Perhaps he could create something and he would feel better. He ventured to his bedroom to see what would come out.