The Dream of the Laddakhi Cat (II)

 Among all the white-gloved cats, one was particularly witty. He had seen his first ray of light in captivity a couple of years after the arrival of the two legs. His mother had told him tales of the free time, when they used to dwell in the white fluffy valley, free to follow the wind as a guide. His master was a cruel fellow, drunken most of the time and taking pleasure at throwing empty bottles of feer (a local alcohol made with white berries) to the cage where our cat laid suspended, tangling above the entrance door. The door, often, was left open to the northern freezing breeze.

Our Laddakhi cat thought about a way to carry his destinty away, but a huge operation including most of the retained cats was necessary. A plan to migrate to another land was also to be think about! Our cat spent months to think about it, listening to the frequent globetrotters stopping at the fringe of the door. His best source of information was a white butterfly named Vitral. Oh! beautiful seasonal pearled butterfly wings he had ;