"Oww," whimpered the Old Lady. Cursing under her breath, she reached for her cane, which had somehow been flung to the edge of some nearby bushes. The Old Lady mustered all the strength remaining in her weathered and ancient body so she could retrieve her walking stick. She wobbled beside the bushes and her eyes fell upon a small clump of greyish brown fur, which squeaked irritably at the raindrops that had fallen as the Old Lady brushed against the bushes.
Even at her age, the woman had a photographic memory. Seeing the sopping ball of fluff sniffing at her feet instantly reminded her of the mess of pale brown fur and bloody intestines she'd been sickened to see smeared on the slick road earlier that afternoon. The kitten, whose eyes had yet to open at all, continued to stumble in circles beneath the deeply green teardrop-shaped leaves of the lilac bush. With a thrust of will she hadn't felt in many years, the Old Lady bent her creaky frame downward and slowly scooped up the shivering kitten.
This new place to which the Kitten had been taken smelt of dried flowers and warm things to eat. Though the Kitten had never smelt any flowers but the blooming lilacs of its birthplace nor ingested anything but the nectar of its mother's teat, the Kitten knew that this was a lovely place to be. Even without the pleasant scents and calm cooing of the Old Lady, this new place would have been preferable to the coldness of the rain. After all, any kitten's first lesson was that naps, which were of course a top priority in life, were far more satisfying when one is warm, dry, and well-fed.
Everyday the Old Lady fed the Kitten homogenised milk. At first, the Kitten had not been fond at all of this meal, as it was quite different from its mother's milk. Eventually though, the Kitten accepted the Old Lady's offering out of insufferable starvation. So the kitten drank the milk. It drank all that it was given. The Kitten seemed to drink twice its weight each day while barely gaining anything each week.
Then one day something unbelievable happened to the sick little cat. Suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, there was sight. Now the world of the Old Lady's basement apartment existed in tints and shades and shapes. The Kitten's pale blue eyes were open. To the Kitten, this was a remarkable gift. Equipped with the divine power of sight, the Kitten could not resist exploring the Old Lady's apartment anew. Nothing was not worth looking at, now that the Kitten could look at anything.
One thing in particular however was worth looking at far more than anything else. This was the window, the only window in the whole wide basement apartment, high up on the wall of the cozy livingroom. From the first moment the Kitten's newfound eyes fell upon the window, it had been transfixed. The window showed the Kitten lilacs and the Kitten remembered the smell of its birthplace, soft and sweet like the tea the Old Lady sipped before bed. Among the lilacs were trees just begging to be climbed. Most magnificent of all was the sky with its transluscent and smoky white clouds, motionless against the endless cerulean. The Kitten then decided that it would not be sick any longer because only a full-grown and healthy cat could jump through that lofty window.
Only two short naps had passed when the Kitten realised that not being sick was much more difficult than being sick. No matter how much the Kitten struggled to breathe properly, it still coughed pitifully sometimes. But every chance it got, the Kitten would gaze at the window hopefully and it became more determined to become well. As the Kitten's determination grew, the Kitten's body seemed to be growing gradually too. Some sneezing persisted, but the Kitten never vomited up what it had eaten anymore. And it was eating deliciously crunchy food now! It was all thanks to the wonders of the windown and the sight that had revealed them.
Time had disappeared as the Kitten dreamed before the window. Only the sound of its own purring existed as it drifted in and out of lucidity. The Kitten's lazily dozing eyes were no longer baby blue but shocking chartreuse. Soon it would be ready to leap.
As it always had since it had become infatuated with the window, the Kitten greedily gobbled everything the Old Lady left in its bowl, knowing the food would help it grow strong. But one day the Kitten was distressed to find its bowl entirely empty for the first time. This was curious behaviour for the Old Lady, as she normally went out of her way to see that all the Kitten's needs were met. With a hollow stomach, the Kitten trod into the strange-smelling room where the Old Lady slept. After examining its surrogate mother, the Kitten knew that Old Lady wasn't going to get out of her bed ever again.
Slinking across the cold hardwood floor, the Kitten laid down in fornt of the window with its head between its paws. Famished and crestfallen, the Kitten closed its eyes and thought of how the Old Lady used to call out to it. Sometimes the Kitten had even come to her when she called. Kittens, of course are above such petty and useless things as love and hate, but the Kitten knew that it would've loved the Old Lady if love were something a kitten could do.
Only the perpetual sunshine from the window drove the Kitten to live despite the starving ache in its belly.
People came to the home of the Old Lady. First came taciturn and tidily-dressed people who removed the remnants of what had once been the Old Lady. Shortly after came damp-eyed murmuring people with their chins quivering. The Kitten paid little attention to any of them, except when they were feeding it. As the Kitten scarfed down some of the sumptuous wet food one of the damp-eyed visitors had brought for it, it glanced over at its beloved window. the largest of the damp-eyed ones was eyeing the Kitten's window analytically. The Kitten stopped eating to watch the man place a hand on either side of the window and carefully pull it off the wall.
The Kitten blinked in astonishment. Instead of the large hole one would expect to see in the place from which a window had been ripped, there was only more wall. Deeply disconcerted, the Kitten chased after the man carrying the window. That was when it all made heartbreaking sense to the Kitten: its precious window was a mere painting, as far from being a window as the photos of the Old Lady's grandchildren she had kept at her bedside. Someone held open the door for the man carrying the painting. The Kitten bolted through the door before the man with the painting formerly known as the window had taken another step. It just couldn't stay in the Old Lady's basement apartment now that the Old Lady and the window were both gone.
Outside -- the real outside -- was nothing like the world captured in the painting. Leaves changed colour upon the trees. Wind tossed the trees about and blew their leaves to the ground. The ground was a jungle of interesting things all needing to be sniffed, tasted, or chased -- grass, flowers, bugs of all kinds, various treasures people flung away from themselves, amusing little rodents, and more than the Kitten had ever imagined. The real outside showed the Kitten withered and sun-browned lilacs and the Kitten remembered the Old Lady's weathered and smiling face. Everything changed constantly in the real outside. No, it was nothing like the everlasting spring morning in the painting. It was real.
The End