Cat Silence

⏱ ~5 min reading

The cat Tisha lived in a cozy wooden house on the outskirts of a quiet town. His fur was soft, grayish, like the mist over a morning river. On his chest was a white star. His eyes were large, greenish, like young leaves in spring.

In appearance, Tisha was like any other cat. But one thing made him unusual: Tisha never purred.

When he was petted, he closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against his hand. When he was given warm milk, he drank slowly and contentedly. When he was feeling good, he simply lay on the sunny mat and breathed. Quietly. Peacefully. Without a single sound.

The other cats in the yard were surprised.

"What is a cat that doesn't purr?" asked the red-haired Barsik, who purred so loudly that he could be heard even beyond the fence.

"That's strange," nodded the neighbor's black Vasko. "All cats purr when they're happy. How else can you tell if a cat is happy?"

Tisha listened to their conversation, but he wasn't offended. He just blinked his long green eyes and walked on. He lay on the windowsill. He listened to the house breathe. He looked at the birds outside the window.

Mistress Tishya, a kind woman with soft gray hair, Aunt Lyubov, was also worried once.

"Why don't you, Tysho, purr like the others?"

Tisha looked at her attentively and gently rested his head on her knee. And she felt warm, as if she understood the answer without words.

“You’re just the way you are,” she said. “And that’s good too.”.

One day something sad happened outside. Aunt Lyubov was visited by a distant relative - a young woman with a little daughter. The girl's name was Solomiya. She was seven years old, but that day she was as quiet as the first winter night. Her cheeks were red from crying, and her fluffy blond hair was disheveled.

“What happened, my dear?” Aunt Lyubov asked gently, pouring tea for her mother.

Mom answered for Solomiyka — in a whisper, so as not to cause her daughter even more pain:

— Today our… dog died. Our old one. Solomiyka has been with him since birth. He doesn’t cry or eat. I don’t know what to do.

Aunt Lyubov put down her cup. She didn't say "time heals" and she didn't say "let's find a new one." She simply patted Solomiyka on the head and whispered:

"Sit down, little one, here on the rug. I'll bring you some warm milk. Okay?"

Solomiyka nodded. She sat down on the thick woolen rug by the fireplace, clasping her knees in her arms. Small tears kept rolling down her cheeks.

And then, quietly, on soft paws, Silence approached her.

He didn't touch her. He didn't jump onto her lap. He didn't meow. He just lay down next to her—a hand's breadth from her leg. He put his head on her paws. He closed his eyes. And he began to breathe—slowly, calmly, evenly.

Solomiyka looked at him through tears.

“Is this your cat?” she asked Aunt Lyubov in a whisper.

— This is Tysha. He's been with me for a long time. He's very good.

— He doesn't purr...

"He doesn't purr," Auntie smiled. "He just happens. And he's good at it.".

The girl said nothing. She looked at Tysha. And he was breathing. Quietly. Calmly. Nearby.

Ten minutes passed. Solomiya's tears gradually began to dry up - she forgot to wipe them, and they rolled down her cheeks to her chin.

Twenty minutes passed. The girl carefully reached out her finger and touched the soft gray fur. Tisha did not move. He only gently nudged her hand with his cheek.

Half an hour passed. Solomiyka was already sitting closer. Her palm lay on Tysha's side, feeling his breathing—up and down, up and down, like a small warm sea.

And an hour later the girl was already telling Tysha - in a whisper, her mouth close to his gray ear:

"You know, my dog was called Kudlai. He was very old. I loved him very, very much. He snorted so funny when he slept. And his tail was tousled like a brush. And he always brought me slippers when I came home from school. But today... he didn't bring them today. Because he's gone.".

He listened silently. He didn't purr. He didn't say "everything will be fine." He didn't try to comfort with words he didn't have anyway. He was just there. He breathed. He looked with his big green eyes. He lay warm and close.

Aunt Lyubov watched this scene from the kitchen and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. Solomiya's mother also stood quietly. And then she leaned over to her aunt and whispered:

"That's strange. I haven't been able to get her to talk for three days. And Tysha... he doesn't even purr.".

Auntie Love nodded.

"He knows something that other cats don't. There are times when you have to not talk, not purr, not sing. Just be there.".

In the evening, when Solomiyka and her mother were going home, the girl knelt down next to Tysha and hugged him — carefully, with all her heart. Tysha closed his eyes.

"Thank you," Solomiyka whispered. "You helped me.".

Aunt Lyubov picked up the cat in her arms and brought it to the little guest.

"You can come to Tysha again if you want. He'll always be here.".

"Can I?" Solomychka's eyes lit up for the first time all day.

"You can, little one. He has so much kindness.".

When the door closed behind the guests, Tysha jumped onto his favorite windowsill. The first stars were shining outside the window. Aunt Lyubov stood next to him and stroked his gray back.

"You see, Tysho," she said quietly. "I used to worry that you weren't purring. But you knew something more important than purring. There are hearts for which silence is the best music. And you have so much of it in you that it will be enough for everyone who is sad.".

Tisha blinked his green eyes and gently rubbed his ear against her hand.