a tale of confrontation

The sun in the east did rise that morning, as every morning, and did shine upon the little bird.  And the little bird did flutter and sing and lift his sweet voice to the sky.  His little brown wings were chilled with night winds, but daylight made them warm and supple once again.  He flew.  His little belly was empty of grains and crawling things and he did let his black eye seek with fervor such stuff to fill it.  One crawling worm was first to go, to make the saying true.  And then a singing cricket, up too late or out too early for its own security.  Lo, what did the little bird spy next?  A pile of yellowy seeds, just edged with green, looking tasty and generous on the ground.  And the little bird did flutter down and take of the bounty, but not more than two minutes had passed when the great orange cat, the scourge of small wanderers, leapt from the nearby weeds and crushed the little bird's neck.  The great orange cat did pick at his prey, pulling plumes aside, daintily taking for his own the choicest tiny morsels.  And he left the rest to the crawling things, some, one might think, happy to partake as if in vengeance.

"You are cruel, cat," came a voice from the shadows, "That bird did nothing to you."

The great orange cat had no warm feeling for the sly gray wolf.  "If my nature is cruel, so be it.  But I at least corrupt no-one.  I do as I please and insist on no other's participation," and he turned a haughty head and went away at a strut.

"And if it is my nature to corrupt, so be it too.  Is that not fair?"  The wolf grinned and winked.  The cat looked away in disgust.

"You use sticky words, like mud.  They cling like burrs to one's hair and bite when one wishes to remove them, but they serve less purpose than those burrs.  I see them scraped off at peasants' doorsteps and I see the burry plants spring up seasons after.  The burrs are fruitful, but your words cause no more than harm."

"Don't you see, dear cat," laughed the wolf, tongue a-lolling, "The burrs seek only to make more of their own.  Fruitful, indeed.  More burrs to prick and to scratch.  If I am like the burr plant, then I am harm, for that is the fruit of my words.  And I wish for others to do harm in my stead, for my burr-words would produce that fruit."

"And that is what you are!" snapped the cat, ears flat, tail lashing, "You twist your image into one of a joker, a trickster, a fool.  You hint at cosmic understanding in your burrs, if only did we let them take root, but instead we are placed at odds with all those around us.  We are lost, you darken our way and smudge our nature with yours.  If I did listen to you, I might wish to seize goods from the peasants, for the mere reason of possessing them, like the mad crow.  I might kill every little thing I came across, only to make my power clear.  I might cease all my activity and wither away, like-"

And the great orange cat shut his mouth with a snap and moved to leave the conversation.

"Like who, cat?" teased the wolf, "Like the great gray over the road?  You were friends, were you not?"

The flying claws of the great orange cat met the nose of the smug gray wolf and there was a snarl of surprise that did echo in the air.

"Would you attack the burr plant, cat?"

"I am sure in my own self.  I will rebuff you when I must."

The wolf's eyes were narrow now and red, like the sun would be in the west.  Little setting suns in the furry night.  "I will leave you now, cat.  I have many burrs to shed.  But you would be wise to keep your eyes well open from now on.  A burr can find you when you least expect it."

Off slunk the sleek gray wolf, low to the ground and shiny like oil.  The great orange did watch him go with defiance.  But, when all sight and sound of him was gone, the cat did move briskly from the place with fear in his feet and worry in his eyes, worry that clouded them from the little bird he passed, who had pounced upon a struggling worm.