She spent most of her time on her designated spot. She was not allowed to do much else. Food and water were provided, of course, as was a comfortable facility to void herself. She retained the ability to bathe whenever she wished; that was something on which she would not budge. But, for the most part, she sat on her designated spot, an out-of-the-way corner.
Once in a while her owner came to visit. Sometimes she relented and let him have her way with her, since she found life incredibly dull. Other times she shirked from his touch and fled elsewhere, if she could. She always felt the need to clean after he was done with her. Always.
One day her owner beckoned to her, and she came. It was then that she saw the window, some distance overhead. She knew what was to be done.
She bolted for it, leaping over and up on whatever objects would bring her closer to her goal. When at last she clambered up onto the windowsill, she took inhaled deeply through her nose of the outside air. It smelled of freedom and rebirth, of budding clover and blooming apple trees. The ground below was a muddy mess. Somewhere out of sight, but near, all too near, she heard the twittering of a bird, a promise of greater things yet to come.
She looked back at her owner for only a moment before returning her attention to the outside world. Spring is such a great time to be a cat.
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