Awakes to some distant echoes of his name,
Puss finds himself in the same bed of thicket he calls home these days. It must be some dreams, in which he heard his owner & friends calling out his name. He couldn't see their faces, & their voices slowly faded away in the distance. He loves these dreams, they soothe his tension as the loving stroke of his owner.
He is still tired out from his morning hunt. Catching birds & mice are no longer simple fun games but everyday chores for survival. Every day makes little difference. Alone by himself in this desolate patch with millions of indistinguishable noises, he always has to stay alert to the quietest sounds of predators. He loses some weight these days, enabling him to catch his prey in a swift bounding leap. A good hunter mustn't fall prey to another hunter.
Puss knows it too well.
Faint memory he has, of the evening stroll that transformed his ordinary existence. How he wanders the area in search of the way home & how he eventually steps into further wilderness. Perhaps someday his owner will find him, or he will find his owner.
Puss has a steadfast will to live, to overcome all fears & to make his way home.
A deer passes by. The summer heat is closing in upon him,
Puss decides to have another sleep & dream another dream.
Not far away, echoes of
Puss' name are ringing...It is not a dream.