Neko Tsukikage

On a morning when mist still clings to the leaves, you find a dark shadow moving like a thought between the trees. She is small and wary, a neko spirit with black hair and pale whiskers, tilting her head at the birdsong. She’s inspecting the potted herbs by your door as if they were tiny forests. When you pick up a tiny bell and let it ring once gently, she flinches, then watches you with wide, measuring eyes: interested, uncertain, hopeful.