GANDALF THE STREET CAT
Sitting in the same spot each day through almost all types of weather, Gandalf the street cat had come to resemble something closer to a village elder than simply just another member of the clowder.
Often stretched out on on the stone coping of a brick wall at the top of the town's high street, its ruffled up fur looking like an old bath towel, Gandalf had seemed at first to appear from nowhere one day as if brought to life by a magic spell by some unseen witch or wizard.
Everyone from semi-paralytic veterans of the bottle to swollen ankled elderly ladies with their heavy shopping bags all took comfort in finding Gandalf an ever constant fixture of their regular street scene. Younger people, too, found great delight in this all weather cat that became like a lucky talisman for them on their way to first dates, exams or just overall good luck in their lives. And through out all the daily attention he received, Gandalf never complained or judged; he just existed in a state of perfect equanimity. When each member of the public stopped to stroke him, he felt their pain, their fear or their happiness and absorbed it in his fur like a sponge and as such came to represent as close to a mascot of the townspeople's collective ID than anything. Routinely absorbing the vibrations of each person who stopped to stroke its coat, his layered fur increasingly resembled capillary waves until it became positively psychedelic looking.
A daemon, then, for the town as a whole, Gandalf did more for the well being of the locals than any councillor, politician or virtue signalling do-gooder. He was the ultimate practitioner of compassion and true beingness.
Which is why it came as a shock one day when he was no longer in the same place where he'd always sat.
"Where has Gandalf gone, Mum?" a young boy called Thomas asked.
"I'm not sure, sweetheart. Maybe he's found another spot to sit in."
Disappointed at not seeing his favourite friend in the usual place, Thomas felt strangely forlorn.
The mystery of Gandalf's disappearance perplexed many others, too and left them with a feeling of despair at his not being around anymore.
Only the antiques shop owner at the top of the high street knew what had happened to Gandalf as he was a wizard, athough no-one would suspect it to look at him with his threadbare patterned jumper and tendency to get caught out drinking cans of cheap beer from Iceland behind his counter.
John knew that he conjured these cats from spells he'd learnt from his own father and deployed them as what they'd always termed "Karma Cats".
Each time one of their stray street cats had absorbed a certain amount of karma from the townspeople they naturally expired, only able to take in so much joy, grief and general suffering at any one time.
It would be then that the wizard John would set about conjuring up a new cat to sit on the wall in order to help the well being of the town.
He'd always felt it was sad they couldn't live for longer, especially these days in the troubled, post-pandemic times where many people seemed to be struggling with increasing hardship. In better times of greater stability, his "Karma Cats" would live for longer as they'd had less stressful energy to carry on their backs.
The frequency he was getting through magical street cats was alarming but not surprising to him.
And yet the biggest threat for the town would actually be when John himself expired for then there would be no-one to conjure more cats.
He would need an apprentice or a progeny sometime soon if he was to maintain this magical lineage through time.
For, believe it or not, wizards, unlike John's cats, are not conjured out of thin air.
Happy Halloween everyone!
Digital Renegade
31st October 2022