#33 Inside the Hat

by Emily C. Skaftun

Stinging ears flattened, I peeked through fluffy white forepaws. The before-place had been scary: bright lights and booming voice, predatory eyes and nowhere to hide. Nowhere to hide here either. Nothing to fear?

I met her atop a grassy hill: fur sleek as night, coyly cocked ears, perfect little forepaws, twitching whiskers. She smelled of spring rain.

I loved her.

Before I knew it we had a big furry family. Fresh grass to eat, room to shit, and each other to frolic with: in time I almost forgot the before-place. Almost.

One day a hole appeared above us and a monstrous limb reached through with five toes that looked like carrots but smelled carnivorous: a paw from the before-place.

The paw groped toward us. Spring Rain’s heartbeat galloped, pounding through ribs and fur into my own heart. The sky-paw’s meaty toes poked her and she froze, eyes wide as the hole in the sky. Though she reeked of fear I loved her from whiskers to tail.

I kissed her nose and reared up, close enough to bite the sky-paw. I considered biting it, but knew it was useless: sky-paws were relentless.

Trembling with love and sorrow, I raised my ears.

The paw closed around them and yanked me through the sky-hole; I popped out into light brighter than the sun. Noise assaulted me and I smelled monsters, row after row of them, slapping their hungry paws together as I hung by aching ears.

The booming voice roared, “Ta-da!”