~
Victoria was playing with the snow. What a stupid cliché I've become... Snow White herself... I hate this... The pure white kitten picked up a pawful of snow and dumped it on top of the mound at her side. Vaguely, she thought: why does no one remember how cold snow is? Automatically she patted it flat. Pawful by pawful, hour by hour, the mound had grown to her head height. It had started as a sculpture of something, not that even then Victoria had had any clear idea of the shape. But there was no point in bothering with that. She just had to build it higher...
You should be dancing... Dancing, always dancing before. To dance was to release herself from- everything. Normally. But the solemn stars would give her no music and her paws were numb with cold. There was only the snow now. Snow does not dance. It has learnt. The snowflakes dance and twirl through the air, but fall down until they are lost in the mass of their brethren on the ground. Snow is serene, snow is white, snow is beautiful.
The night was quiet. It was peaceful; no one disturbed her work. No one here to talk to her, to question her... Except herself. What are you doing Victoria?....I'm playing with the snow....What's the point?...Why not? What's the point of anything? I'm doing something useful.... What are you trying to prove, Victoria?
Who calls me Victoria?
She shivered again. The half moon was glaring silver icicles at her, as if scorning her to be intruding that private spectacle. But I belong here... she protested. The shining white snow, the bleached moon, the strangely cold light from the street lamps... and her, the snow kitten, all white. And all fading. We all know... We all know that nothing white can last... Beautiful, white things; loved for our beauty, but only for a short time... Snow melts away, dirtied as it is kicked about and played with, and gone by the cleansing rainfall. Moonlight wanes and fades as the showy splendour of the sun overtakes it. And the street lamps will die yet again by the dawn.
Another pawful. Beads of ice had formed all over her fur and she was soaked to the skin. Coat wet and bedraggled probably - but still white, still clean. The snow here on the pavement was mostly clean, fallen fresh and new just before nightfall. Still, a few cars must have passed by since then; the soft white of the road had been marred by foul brown tyre tracks. Victoria looked at them with distaste. Dirty. The snow is dirtied and it's not pure white anymore. I hate it. White is beautiful. I hate white. I hate it all. But it's perfect.
Why are you here, Victoria? Where are you anyway?....Who cares? I've found this street and it's mine now, because I am building here. Here, everything is beautiful. Everything is quiet. Everything is white. The mound of snow.... There was no more snow that came easily to paw. She would have to get up and walk to reach some Or maybe now she had finished. Dawn was coming. She could go now...
The moon watched her with disdain. You think you belong? Prove it! Stay. Obedient, Victoria started to dig into the mound she had made. Something inside her argued: What are you doing?? It's freezing. You CAN'T stay here! Can't? A challenge. Can, then. Must. How did you get this screwed up? What are you trying to prove?... Shut up, stop getting in the way.... Snow, soft as her fur and the same pure white, like a down mattress. She was sleepy. Don't... When she had dug a big enough aperture, she climbed into the shimmering hole. And, majestically, gracefully, and absolutely silently, the pile of snow collapsed around her, giving to her in reality the blanket of snow she'd so often been given in metaphor. If you belong, stay. Remain here, beautiful forever.
She lay still. Still and serene and beautiful. All Victoria could see around her was the snow. The perfect whiteness and purity. I'm cold.... why does no one remember how cold snow is? Sleep would come, and she would remain here, where she belonged. A delicate white rose, roses whither away... She would remain forever. White things and beautiful things fade away; she had no choice about that, but that was alright... it didn't seem to matter at all. The rose is fading. Better to fade in beauty and to remain, forever frozen, than to whither and weep and wish for something else... All that mattered was that now she belonged and she was as beautiful as the moon. As pure as its silver light. As white as the snow. Better to let go willingly...
As cold as the street lamp.
* * * * *
Victoria had not expected to wake up. When she did, it was to see in front of her a blazing fire in the hearth, to feel a wool blanket around her. Warm, soft.... Soft. Not as soft as the snow....what happened? What went wrong?
She shut her eyes again. Somewhere, beyond the memory that was stirring out of the shadows to torment her, she heard the distant babble of human voices; too far off for her to understand, not that she cared. Then the sound of a door opening; footsteps; someone in high heels, a pair of ordinary brown Oxfords or something, the patter of running bare feet on the wooden floor. It was surprising how much she could hear when she listened. Two of her humans; the woman and the child, and a strange man.
"Victoyria! Victoyria! Are you OK? Please meow at me Victoyria! Are you OK?"
She understood only some of this, but she could hear the desperate concern in the young boy's voice. He was very sweet, as humans went. But what was he doing here? Or more to the point, what was she doing here? She didn't think she could be bothered to say anything to him; he wouldn't understand.
Human conversation floated unclearly above her.
"Thank you so much, Doctor Wrens. I'm not sure-" A pause and a deep breath, "Someone from George Street found her, just outside their house, covered in the snow, he said. She's still- breathing and everything, we just kept her warm here, but is their anything we should do? I mean, will she be alright?" The woman sounded close to tears. Victoria didn't want to listen. She heard "yes" and "very lucky escape" and "perhaps hypothermia". Someone - the little boy - stroked her head, his touch was warm. Warm like the fire. Warm like the wool blanket. But she was cold, always cold, always white...
Where's the blanket of snow?
"Vicki?" came an anxious voice; a cat's voice this time.
She opened her eyes. "Hi Pounce," she said dully. He had come in, sometime, and was sitting beside her; the humans seemed not to object- he was a regular caller, after all.
"Vicki, what happened? I heard your humans talking and they said someone found you lying in the snow this morning; they said you nearly froze to death! Are you hurt?"
He doesn't understand. He can't understand. "No, I'm not hurt."
"Then what- how did you collapse outside? Why did you go out?" Then he gasped. "Did someone-"
"No! No, Pounce..." she shook her head. "I went out by myself, I just- felt like it'
"Vicki....is there something?"
"I was playing in the snow. It was cold. But it was beautiful and white. I wanted to be stay. I wanted to sleep."
He stared at her, puzzlement and shock and- just plain grief- all pouring from his wide brown eyes. "You could have died!"
She shrugged. He doesn't understand. It didn't matter one bit then. What about now?
"You don't care? You could have died, Vicki! Did you want to?!" He sounded- angry. Why was he angry at her?
"I wanted to stay." she repeated calmly. "Why did they take me away?"
"Why? Because they love you! Of course they love you. We all do. I love you. You wanted to die? Why did you- Did I do something-"
Oh Everlasting Cat, no... I can't screw up his life too. He thinks it's his fault.... "Pounce, please I- it wasn't anything to do with you. It wasn't anyone's fault. I just- I don't know, I don't know. I told you. I belonged there... It was just white and beautiful and pure but it couldn't last...neither can I..."
He looked at her for a few moments in silence, clearly he didn't know what to say. Then, "Vicki... I don't understand, and you don't have to explain if you don't want to, but please- hold on, OK? We all love you too much to let you go."
Choose now, Victoria.
"Vicki?"
Which way are you going to go? There are other nights....there will be more snow. Tonight you may have another chance to be beautiful forever.
"Vicki! Can you hear me?"
Do you think it will last? Better to fade with the moon in grace and serenity than die alone somewhere, dirty and unwanted. Remember Grizabella?
"Looky, looky Victoyria! I've got a piece of cake! Do you want some cake?" / "Don't give her that! It's not good for her! We've got to look after Victoria especially carefully now, Robin."
Do they really care about you? Any of them? Why on earth should they? You're just trouble to them. A difficulty. An inconvenience. You don't belong here. And you don't need them. Are you that weak?
"Vicki, please promise me! Promise you'll hold on."
Let them go...
No...
"I need you, Vicki. Please."
She took a long breath of warm air. Safe. Here with the dear humans with their bumbling care and real deep concern for their little kitty. Their little kitty who had nearly surrendered her life to the cold beauty of the snow forever. Here with the splotchy tom cat at her side, desperate brown eyes staring into hers. I need him as much as he needs me. I don't need to be just a white kitten, an ice maiden, a snow queen with a frozen heart. I don't need to leave them. They would never leave her, and if nothing else she owed it to them to give them the little happiness they really believed she could give them.
"I promise."
THE END