In a lonely tent, deep in the desert of the Sahara, there lived a women and her cat. The woman was a well-known author all over the world. Her works included fantasy, fables, poems, nursery rhymes and songs, thrillers, science fiction, and much more. Almost every type of writing that can be done, she was famous for doing it, for no one in the whole of the world was as good a story-teller as she.
So why did she live in such solitude instead of in the spotlight if she is so good a writer and so famous, one may ask. Well, the women hid herself away because her stories weren’t hers at all. The woman was simply the narrator. Indeed, she was but the copy lady who wrote what she heard. The real story-teller was the women’s humble orange cat.
Every day the women would take her seat in front of her type writer, and every day her cat would sit in front of her on the desk and tell the women all kinds of stories. He told the most wonderful stories, that the women could not help but want to share them with the world. So, every morning as the cat told his story, she would write them down, and every evening, she would get in her old jeep, drive across the desert, and bring them to her publisher.
The lonely women loved the cat so much. He had been her only companion through her childhood in the orphanage and all the way up to this very day in her adult life. The women knew that if anyone found out that her cat was the creator of such marvelous stories as these, let alone that he could talk, he would surely be taken away from her, become famous, and she would never see him again. So the women and her cat kept the secret between the two of them and not a soul on the earth or in the sky ever knew who the real story-teller was.
© Lindsay Amber