I will never understand the Big Ones.
I’ve been watching them now, off and on, for many days–nearly two Openings of Meerclar’s Eye. Why I have been doing that…well, that is a tale for another singing. Suffice it to say that so far, my watchings have not brought me any insights.
At the time I began my study, the Folk were in an uproar. The M’an-folk had dug up a stone within their dwelling-areas, a stone that reeked of os, of wrong. Any cat could sense it. And when an os-beast was birthed from it–well, Folk began leaving the area in droves. My own mother, Dewbow, came to tell me of it, and I made a special trip to scent it for myself, so I would know it if it came. I thought, though, that I would be safe in my isolated home within the large wall by the sea. But even I had to flee, when mingled M’an- and os-smell invaded. I’ve had to try to find a new nest in areas that are suddenly much more crowded.
My point with all this is that we Folk have the good sense to flee this os. But M’an…well, at one point, I saw several of them gathered in the open space with the splashing water. I could smell that some of them were injured, and those injuries, even from my hiding space, carried the taint of the os-beast. These M’an-folk seemed to be actually seeking it–such madness!
Though, I must admit, none of us Folk have scented anything fresh from the os-beast for a while. Perhaps it has finally left…
Looking for the os-beast isn’t the only strange thing these M’an-folk have done in my viewing. Another day, in that same open space, a few of them were picking up snow and throwing it at each other. They were caterwauling at each other, yet it didn’t seem to be a fight. I suppose it could have been play, but why they would want to chill each other with snow is more than I can understand.
And that isn’t all. Right now, in that self-same open space, are a number of piles of oddly-shaped snow. I’ve even seen the M’an-folk working on them, deliberately shaping them. What possible purpose can this have?
Also, in one of the open green spaces, there is a tree on which the M’an-folk have hung several shiny objects. I’ve done my best to investigate them, even scrambling through the tree’s branches several times, but again, I see no purpose for them.
Well, I won’t give up yet. We cats learn patience early, and use it all our lives.