When the new humans moved into the house, the Locust tree aged 62 years, wondered if they would have pets. The last ones had a dog and the owners drilled a spiked ring into his trunk to attach a leash. His healing cells went to work on the wound to protect him from invading insects. He didn't mind all that much, the dog was pretty well behaved and he enjoyed a different species to hang out with. He liked all his avian and mammal neighbors and chatted with them as they perched or ran up and down his trunk. The humans kept him trimmed up, taking out the limbs that inevitably succumb to age. Just like the dog about 10 years after he arrived. The locust was sad and for several years, no one new appeared.
He was quite happy when it was revealed that the new humans had brought with them three cats. He had experience with cats passing through the property on patrol, occasionally marking his trunk or stropping their claws on the bark. Neither activity bothered him. Within a few days, all three cats had visited him and one in particular, the grey, enjoyed stropping her claws on him. This activity did no damage and he rather enjoyed the sensation. And usually, the little grey would hang out with him, partially concealed in the day lilies.
Her language was different than the neighborhood cats. While he could understand the gist of what she was saying (all creatures can understand one another, except for humans) there were times he was perplexed. The little grey had traveled from far, far away, across a big ocean where he was surprised that his kind live as well. He contacted them through the mycelium network and picked up language pointers which helped a lot. A routine had been established: the side door would open and the little grey would run out and go directly to his trunk for a bit of stropping. Then, she would patrol and return back to the lilies that grew around his base, lie down and they would chat.
A decade passed and all were getting older. Generations of squirrels and rabbits had come and gone. Two out of the three cats had passed leaving the little grey by herself. She didn't mind though, she confided to him. The other two got on her nerves and besides, she now has her humans to herself for great treats and lots of scritches. But, she was getting elderly and losing weight. Her time on patrol was shorter than in past years and she slept more. The locust was feeling his age too, there were several major limbs that were dying or dead. He wished the humans would trim them off as losing them in a windstorm usually meant a jagged wound as the limb tore off unlike a nice smooth cut the human's saws created.
He was feeling melancholy as Fall lead into Winter. His friend was not be out everyday. His leaves had dropped and it was time for a long nap until it warmed again. He looked forward to seeing his little grey again and feeling her claws on his bark. And then a good chin wag to get caught up. This was something he valued about Spring, feeling the life energy of the planet surging through his veins, the warmth of the sun and meeting up again with all his friends in the neighborhood.
A Chekhovian story, autumnal and melancholy. Beautiful!
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