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The thought of her wouldn't leave his mind. She was there, lingering for a moment in her majestic glory, tail curled, her limbs arched and perfectly angled as the sun gleamed down on her fur, her sitting posture that of Bastet, the Sphinx, proud and perfect as the Everlasting Cat herself. She would sit there, basking, eyes closed luxuriously in the warmth, then suddenly rush his consciousness, hurling his thoughts into a mass of chaos and disrupting his peaceful meditation, stirring in him again those vague desires and anguished longings. It was evening, and he was alone.

It was a rare occasion Coricopat received any time by himself, but on this particular evening the somber-colored slim tom sat in silent isolation, his paws folded beneath him as he lay curled on the edge of a rubber tire still warm from the sun's rays, his mind deep in thought as he gazed out over the junkyard. The air tonight was pleasant and cool. In the distance he could see uneven ridges of garbage that made up the horizon, glowing a dull yellow hue in the fading sunlight. Among the valleys and mountains of trash wound the small dirt-ground pathways the cats constantly used, growing smaller in the horizon, the sky of which was painted a soft pink, glowing, as gentle as love.

Love...that was what made the tom light-headed now as the breeze pushed against his whiskers. A most unusual feeling, his analytical mind contemplated. Now he was alone, his mind free from problems, reports, criticisms, or approvals...away from all hindrances and distractions so he could think. Away from the prying mind of his sister whose thoughts he shared so he could ponder the question haunting him like a plague. Love...love...love. Many a splendid thing...that was what Coricopat was contemplating that evening.

It had happened earlier that very day. Early morning, he had come to the junkyard with Tantomile, their forms moving as one through the dawn shadows, intent on finding that which they sought: counsel with Old Deuteronomy. But that was not what they found.

Cassandra.

She had been sitting on this tire where he was now, grooming her sleek cinnamon brown fur. She and Tantomile exchanged words, usual female talk as Coricopat sat aside in silent respect. He watched them, one who was a mirror image of himself in all but gender, the other a beautiful sentiment in addition to the dawn. Just looking at her, watching, made Coricopat remember.

Nearly a year ago, he was a much younger, much more inexperienced cat than he was now, alone in the world save for his sister who shared everything they felt. Nearly a year ago they had been accepted into the tribe, welcomed by all, especially one slim Siamese-like female. Angled features and slim mane as the great ancient cats of Egypt, Coricopat found himself surprised at how deeply those memories were buried. A year seemed so long ago. He and Tantomile were young, pursuing actively their studies and development of their abilities, residing close in their family home to that same slim brown queen.

She used to strut across the fence and lawns dividing the homes of their humans and curl up in the window to listen to them chant out loud their ceremonies, their verses and blessings to memorize. At night, when Coricopat was alone, he could gaze out that same window and see her curled at the base of the tree in the yard, sitting up and waiting until he came out. She was a quiet cat, calm and collected with that aloof light in her slanted onyx eyes. She would look at him admiringly as he closed his eyes in contemplation, or recited a song verse from memory, or when he slipped out at night through the window. By that time she had gathered some mice or leftover human food for their dinner. So often was Coricopat hungry, for his and Tantomile's human was a negligent one, and what little food they did receive was given up to the female half of the siblings. It was with Cassandra most nights that he dined. They never said much to each other. Usually they only smiled.

He had never taken the liberty to thank her, but constantly he realized he felt the need to see her every night, see her face and talk about nothing. Her mysterious eyes, her slanted face, and smooth whiskers, sitting bunched up under that tree even on the cold and raining evenings. Coricopat remembered all these things as he watched her. All of them. Now he understood why he had been watching her so intently as she and his sister talked. For those beautiful, sweet, distant memories, buried for almost a year and reawakened in a gust of wind only that morning. That was what he thought about now.

Why had he never told her he loved her? Why had he only realized it this morning when she and Tantomile sat talking? This thought nearly drove him mad. Her eyes black as ebony, her smile small and aloof, her swishing tail sarcastic and teasing. He wanted to forget these thoughts of love, a subject he knew absolutely nothing about, and return to the stark logical way of thinking he had honed to a fine skill over his feline life.

He and Tantomile had gone on after that, continuing and completing their search in summary until Tantomile found Jennyanydots, and together they parted for kitten-related business. Coricopat didn't know why Cassandra said not a word to him at all that morning, nor why he had said nothing to her. He could see clearly now, as he lay here on a tire that was now in the dark of early night, that walking away from such love was wrong. How could he possibly go back, knowing he had walked away so easily? The junkyard was full of shades now: shades of darkness and shadows, the stars above like sparkling diamonds, the smell of the sweet wind. The smell of her fur...her dark and mystical eyes...her head tilted as he crept out of the window... He was so shy then, and still was. The logical part of him said it was useless to try and think it still possible. There was no sense in denying or dwelling on it. He knew he loved her and she perhaps had loved him.

Still he had walked away. Now the tire was growing uncomfortable. Many stars lit up the night sky now. He could still smell the freshness of the night air, the familiar scent of a safe place that could stir one's soul and poetic conscience. Everything took on a new life in the light of the moon: vibrant and sensual. Enough to make his head spin. He slapped himself on the cheek as he sat up.

"What is wrong with me?"

There was no answer. Only the wind, the swirling clouds over the moon's face. Her smooth, firm limbs upon the windowsill as she grinned secretively at him, laughing with some inner amusement. Her paws slim and lithe, muscles liquid steel beneath her coat. A dancer's body. His love had returned to him, right now, inside, pushing away the rules of logic and reason. He stood up resolutely, pacing the tire's rim, watching the clouds float by high above, evaporating into invisible mists when he thought of her. After all, what does a love add up to--even a true love--if it is not shared? So often he heard the stories of love, desire, and passion from the other cats around him. He saw the mated couples, old and young, reveling in their companionship from the simple touch of paws. He had never been able to understand it. Now he was trying to find what was missing in his life: the one spot a queen who wasn't Tantomile could only fill.

"Brother," Tantomile had asked him as they walked away that morning, his very thoughts echoing throughout her own. "Are you in love?"

"In love?" he laughed at first, fell silent, then snapped with one who was withholding the truth. "In love, Sister? Are you insane?"

But he was. Coricopat knew he was, and furthermore he knew logic had no place here. This was a matter of the heart, not the head. And it would be his heart he would follow.

"Coricopat?"

Turning in response to his name being called, quiet, somewhere in the darkness of the junkyard around him, the slim, somber-colored tom knew his search was over. The voice was Cassandra's.

The end