Rustling

Among the shrubs and trees, a rustling of leaves was heard.

The Cat looked up through a yellow-tinted gaze. He had been grooming his coat, sandpaper-like tongue running over his paws with a certain amount of expertise, when he heard the Rustling. It wasn't a normal rustling, one produced by wind or, perhaps, a small rodent or bird. It could not be the wind, for he felt no breeze; however, it could not be an animal, for it did not make the sounds that the creatures of the Forest made. It was strange, somehow, ethereal in an entirely foreign sense. There was something strange about this, now, and it intrigued the Cat. His ears twitched, ever so slightly, toward the noise.

"Who is there?" the Cat called out. "Show yourself, if you please." He was not demanding, but rather curious.

"None but the Forest," a Voice called back, though the Voice itself sounded like some product of the Rustling. Even more, now, the Cat found himself intrigued.

"Then tell me, Forest, is it you who makes the Rustling that I hear?" The Cat sat up straight, ears perked so that he might hear the answer properly when it came. After a long pause, he heard an answer.

"Yes..." responded the Voice, "...and no."

"How do you mean?" the Cat asked.

"I am what creates the Rustling. However, my voice is also created by the Rustling."

"How do you mean?" the Cat asked again.

The Voice, the Rustling, answered, "You are a Cat. You are created by the World, by Nature... and in turn, Nature is created by you. This is how it is with all living beings."

This was not a very straight-forward answer, and the Cat found himself frustrated at first. However, before he could become angry, the Voice asked, "And you, Cat, what brings you into the Forest?"

"I come here to walk," answered the Cat. "To think. Sometimes to sleep. I enjoy the Forest, and the company of the Trees; tall and silent as they are, they make excellent company for one such as myself."

"And what is one such as yourself?"

The Cat thought for a moment; he had never been asked such a question before. "Why, I am a Cat," he said. "I am my experiences, both past and future. I am my dreams, my thoughts, my likes, dislikes, and fears; I am my worries and cares, and I am myself. That's what I am, when it boils down to it: myself. And that cannot be changed, for despite changing preferences and dreams and ideas, they are what shapes me, and I will always be MY experiences and MY dreams, all of that which makes me, me."

The Rustling made a noise just then, as if it were nodding. "And tell me, how do you feel about this? What you are?"

The Cat simply smiled, face pulling into a sharp-toothed grin. "Why, I am a Cat," he said. "Thus, I am perfectly content." And he stood up, and with a swish of his tail, he was gone.