By Rachel H Grant

Alison closed her eyes, another year over like a cat’s whisker floating afar in the wind. There would be no New Year celebration for her. Only two weeks ago, she lost her dear tabby cat Cherry, a road traffic accident not far from her house.

So tonight, Alison drifted to sleep with a cat whisker in her hand, memories murmuring deep within as sleep shushed her tears.

Purring pulsed through her body, interrupting deep dreams. Alison woke up, a nightmare retreating to its subconscious cave. 2024, a new year with no cat.

She could still hear the purring.

In confusion, she sat up and checked her phone. 28 November 3:30am it proclaimed. Alison rubbed her eyes. She must still be dreaming. Whiskers waltzed in her head, dreams in freefall.

The purring continued.

Alison opened her eyes. In the dim light, she saw her. A cat.

Turning on her bedside lamp, there she was in full tabby glory. Cherry, eyes dancing with feline fun. Alison smiled. What a lovely dream, a whisker caught in her mind, fluttering like a sweet bird, its song deep in her subconscious. Let this dream continue. Alison snuggled under the duvet, her hand on her cat, a hundred smiles lighting her heart like whiskers on fire.

In the morning, her eyes opened and a secret smile played with her lips like a whisker stroking them.

What a lovely dream.

She checked her phone, and to her shock it proudly proclaimed 28 November 8:15am. Alison rubbed her eyes, a whisker scratching them with disbelief. Was she still dreaming? Was there something wrong with her phone?

Then the door moved as a cat entered her room, purring like there was no tomorrow.

It was Cherry.

Whiskers fell in her heart, as disbelief dissolved in the flames of delight.

It was true, it was Cherry.

And so Alison relived the last four weeks, whiskers whispering in her ears as her heart spun like a falling whisker.

She cherished every single moment, knowing that like a whisker this precious gift of relived time could float away, and be no more.

The days passed like whiskers in the wind. Then it was the day, the fierce fate day. So Alison shut the catflap and Cherry did not die in the road that day.

On New Year’s Eve, Alison retired to bed early, her fingers crossed like two whiskers, hoping against hope that Cherry would still be there in the morning.

Alison woke up in the night to the sound of purring. Whiskers played with her smile, as she drifted back to sleep. And like a whisker, her dreams floated in her mind, a whirlwind of whiskers and a treasure chest of new futures.

In the morning, she fed Cherry, disbelief finally vanquished.

It was a new day, a new year and new hope whispered in her heart like a whisker. She looked down at her hand, and was surprised to see a whisker there. Slowly, she placed the white whisker in her jewellery box. For dreams can die, but whiskers live forever.