Liches Get Scritches: A Cat Cultivation

“Can you teach me?” I squeaked.

Crouched low to the ground I could feel the very earth shaking beneath me as the toad started to laugh. Deep, rolling vibrations emanated from its monstrous belly, I dug my claws in so I did not go flying. The uncomfortable realisation floated across my brain, that I was to this toad-god as the bugs were to me.

“You seek a teacher, oh nameless one?” rasped the spirit beast. “And just what would I teach you? You are barely formed, a mere scrap of fluff. A grub before my hunger.”

I bristled.

“Jenkins,” I shouted. I don’t know why I shouted, only that the loud noise was better than a squeak. And I disliked this toad’s tone. “My name is Jenkins! My Mama said you would teach me about qi.”

The monstrous bulbous eyes widened. The broad mouth tilted up as the moon-toad leaned closer. I resisted the urge to flee as the moist spongy fleshy mass of its nostrils sniffed. I could see every cavernous pore, and every soaking crack as the scent of damp earth whooshed over me. With some difficulty, I held my place.

Despite my best efforts, every single hair on my back, that was not already standing, rose to attention.

“And just who is your Mama?”

The question lingered between us. I froze.

In the way of very young children everywhere, it had never before occurred to me that Mama might have another name, or an identity outside of ‘Mama’.

“Nevermind,” rasped the spirit-beast, leaning back and rolling its massive eye-balls. “Tell me. What do you know of qi?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen it? Have you? Show me how you ‘saw’ it. Now.”

“Show you?” This time it did come out as a squeak.

“Breathe,” said the monstrous toad, relentlessly. “Show me.”

The three dull-eyed toads had now hopped out of the log and were perched atop it, each one staring aimlessly, accusingly, at me. One of them was smiling.

“Breathe, breathe, breathe,” they all said, one after the other.

I registered this betrayal for another time, and did as I was asked, settling my paws under my body to get comfortable.

Even so, it was difficult to relax in this strange, unfamiliar place. Every single muscle in my body was tense, my coat still puffed in all directions. The ground was somehow hard and soft beneath me, all at once. A tiny pebble stuck into my leg. Every time I got comfortable the noise washed over me again, drowning me in a riot of sensations: the hollering loud-mouthed Folk raucous on their mushrooms, the wheezing rasping mouth-breathing of the enormous glade-filling toad. The erratic squelching slop of mud when she shifted her limbs. The wind ruffled my backside, like poking, creeping fingers.

And not just that, I was horribly, horribly aware of the forest behind me, where strange, howling, screaming shades roamed. Still, I was Jenkins. I was a cat. The very best cat. I managed to block it all out, one noise at a time, and sucked air in through my nose in steady, calming breaths.

I breathed, in and out, and then breathed some more.

But no matter how I breathed the world stayed the same. I could sense nothing but smelly toad.

“Come back when you can breathe properly,” said the toad-monster.

And with that it sank back into the soil.

Moments later, the glade was as it was, the grass back in place, the earth quiet and undisturbed. All save for the three toads on their log.

“Precocious kit,” said one. “So tiny, so stupid.”

“It will probably die in the forest,” said the second. “All alone, unable to cycle qi. Soft. Sad. How sad.”

“So small,” said the third, sadly. “Bone and fluff. Barely a snack.”

“Pathetic.”

“Domestics are always useless.”

“Sad.”

With three squelching hops they disappeared back into their hollow.

The Folk on their mushrooms, who had been watching intently this whole time, jeered in disappointment, waving slender, glimmering arms, wings quivering. One of them threw a mud ball at me. It splattered onto the end of my nose, and I swiped the dirt away in annoyance with a paw.

This was ridiculous. I was quite sure I was bigger than the toads. When I stretched out, anyway. I was definitely more beautiful. I would show them, I would be back, and I would be the best at breathing. At everything. And I would look better doing it as well. Less squelchy.

But first I had to make my way home and figure out what had gone wrong.

Disappointment pooling in my belly, I left the glade treading with a confidence that was only skin deep. As soon as I was out of eyeshot I scuttled forwards, low, ears flat.

I did not like this forest. I did not like the marsh. I did not like toads. Everything was horrible.

The return journey took me a long time but thankfully I encountered no more howling beasts, and no other scares. I came out of the trees slightly north of the gully, and was actually grateful to hear River’s rushing burble.

Growling under my breath, I raced forwards, bounding, one patter, two patters, over protruding rocks - leap - to make it safe and sound to the other side. My heart lifted as I landed.

Soon I arrived at my cottage, still dark and dreaming in its little dell. It was strange to see it, unchanged, and peaceful. Nothing had moved since I left it, only I had changed from the great adventure. The bees were still asleep in their hives, the nanny goat passing gas gently in her lean-to. My misadventure in the woods felt like a dream.

I slipped through the shutters, up the steep, rickety stairs to the loft and nosed my way under Maud’s covers. It was nice and warm there. Safe. No toads, no wisps, no River. I tucked myself under her chin so I could feel her heartbeat. It was almost as nice as Mama’s rumply purr. My Maud did not wake, just moving her hand automatically to pull me close.

When I next woke, it was morning.

After a fine breakfast I decided Maud had probably missed me quite a bit, and she might have been a little scared by the events of the evening. I should spend time with her to make her feel better. So I wound between her ankles then supervised her cooking from the top of the dresser shelf, taking the opportunity to groom myself thoroughly. My coat was still covered in bits of forest, and I had mud between my paws. This would not do.

Once that was all in order I settled onto the sunny kitchen windowsill, between some pots and a jar, to practise my breathing. I did not understand why I had stalled in front of the toad. It was confounding. I was so good at breathing. I could do it even without thinking about it!

Irritation coursing through my bones, my eyes landed on an offending pot. I knocked it onto the ground where it landed with a loud clang. That instantly made me feel better.

“Jenkins!”

To be fair, the kind of breathing that resulted in seeing qi was a little harder… I settled into the cosy corner of the window sill and pressed my side against the warm wood, drawing in a deep breath and shutting my eyes. To my relief, after only a few measured breaths I was able to slip into meditation. I could still do it!

Five minutes later I could sense the strands of qi surrounding me.

Most of it was the golden, dazzling butter yellow of sunlight qi. Out of the corner of my eyes I spied deep fern green encircling Maud’s hands as she chopped and hummed, different shades of green and streaks of brown for the kitchen herbs, both those in pots and those strung up in the rafters. The fire was flecks of gold and red, the cottage hearth stones iron grey laced with brown. Every now and then there was an unexpected colour: purple popping out of slate grey or a hint of metallic copper. Shifting my chin I could see whispers of wind in the garden gusting pearlescent white. Or was that wispy Folk? Or a ghostie? No, it was qi.

It was quite pleasant to look at, and I felt my belly fill up with comfort.

I continued to breath in and out, carefully examining everything. It took some effort not to lose my concentration. When I did my breathing would become shallow and the visibility of the qi would fade away.

I persevered.

The qi was not stationary, but it was very hard to look at. It was best to look at it sideways. Like the tricksy Folk, up to no good, that didn’t want to be seen. Shy, not like rude sprites on toadstools, hollering rudeness. The qi wavered, and I snatched my concentration back from the jaws of irritation.

The qi moved like a living thing, sometimes emitting glowing embers. It was very pretty. I liked watching it. But what was I supposed to do with it? I had no idea. The toad-monster-spirit-beast-maybe-teacher would have to tell me. It made me feel happy though, or was that just the sun? I did love the way the sun warmed me so lovingly.

I meditated in the sunbeams for as long as I could, until at last my concentration slipped into sleep. Then, I seemed to be as dirty as if I had not groomed myself, or worse, so I did it again, followed by a quick nap, then my usual patrol of the cottage and grounds.

Everything was as it should be, in the garden, and the surrounding trees.

But the woods beyond did not seem quite so merry to me as before. I eyed them suspiciously, but there were no unusual sights or sounds. I knew it was just because I had grown. The world was bigger, more dangerous. Now I knew there were scary things out there, things that might see me as prey, preposterous as that might sound. This thought was so stressful that I had to meditate once again under the happy-mint.

Then I had another nap inside on Maud’s lap.

Deep in my dreams I met Mama. Excited and indignant, I related the tale of my adventures to her.

“So you met the moon-toad,” she said, laughing at me. “Good! But she is not a godling or a monster. Not yet anyway. She merely is in an advanced stage of cultivation.”

“Cultivation can make you that big?” This would make eating things easier.

“Cultivation can do many, many things,” said Mama wisely, washing under my chin with vigorous enthusiasm. I suffered the indignity, even though I was quite sure I had cleaned there. Meditating did seem to make me dirty. I wasn't sure why. “It can make you fast, it can make you strong. It can make your senses grow until you are far-sensing, true smelling.”

“True smelling?”

“Eventually you will be able to smell lies,” said Mama. “And fear, and love and hate. Not just where. You will be able to smell what is happening behind a door, behind a house, behind a hill.”

“There were also…big scary things. Things that howled and screamed. I hid in a tree and watched them go by.”

“Screamed and howled?” Mama did not seem so pleased to hear of these. She gave me a reassuring lick, but her brows were furrowed into deep creases.

“What do you think they were?” I asked her. “I couldn't see. They were too fast.”

“I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps a bear or a wolf?”

“I have seen a bear,” I said. “It did not move that fast. Even when running. Bears are more…lumbery.”

“If it was a bear or a wolf,” she said, “you should be fine. You are swift and light, as long as you stay out of reach. But you are a sprinter, so get up and away as soon as possible.” She paused again. “It could also have been other cultivation students, out trading pointers in the woods.”

My eyes brightened at the thought of others.

“But trust your instincts, dear one. Avoid trouble, stay safe while you are growing. Take great care my darling. Not everyone is a friend. Not everyone is as they seem.” Her voice grew hard, and I shivered, as I remembered the horror of the sack. “Whoever they were, it does not matter now. Do not go back to the glade, not until you have mastered your meditation. Do you understand, my son?”

I nodded.

I had not intended to go back until I had figured it out. I would not give those stupid toads the satisfaction.

“But what was I doing wrong? Why couldn’t I do it? I know how to breathe! I’m breathing all the time, look at me!” I breathed in and out, exaggerating the fall and rise of my dream-chest. “I have felt the qi every time I looked for it today. Why not then?”

Mama sniffed me long and deep, and then cleaned my ears once more while she was thinking. I waited patiently, wondering if she was true-smelling. I realised then that I couldn’t smell anything in dreams, not even the happy-mint that lingered on my coat for hours after rolling in it. What was she smelling?

“You have an affinity for light,” she said, at last. “For sunlight, specifically.”

“An affinity?”

“Qi comes in different… elements. Different flavours. Light is one of them, and the understanding of it comes naturally to you. The sunshine is your friend. I am not surprised. You come from a long, illustrious line of sun cats. Think, my darling. Every time you have seen qi, were you basking in the sun?”

I thought back.

“I was! But how-”

“Basking in the element of your affinity will aid your cultivation,” she explained. “Like the magical herbs that eased you into the right state, but less potent.”

“Sun qi,” I repeated in wonder. “Or light qi? Is that the golden light?”

“It is,” she said. “Now you befriend other aspects, practise, in places that are not so natural to you. Of course practise in the sun, to get the feel of it, but also out of it where you are less comfortable. Do not return to the glade until you can cultivate beneath the glow of the moon. It will do. It is just another kind of light, after all, although of a different aspect. As is starlight. Cultivation in full darkness might take you longer. Do not worry, one at a time.”

I screwed up my nose in distaste, and she swatted me gently.

“Focus on your path ahead, and return to the glade when you are ready.”