Fat white clouds drifted across the blue sky above, a dragonfly touched the water and caused it to fold, and momentarily blur the perfect vision below. Furndrine had caught the young pretender's eye. He sat their frozen to the ground, looking more like a furry statue than the kitten that had only just started to poke at the word cat.
Trembling above a cuckoo chick bleated for more as its diligent surrogate parent slaves fluttered off on overdrive for more food. This cuckoo had a murky past. Its genes of course had been oscillating between Europe and Africa for millenia but times were changing. In fact it seemed the whole world was changing of late. The direction of winds, the landscape beneath. The mover shakers seemed to have gone berserk over the blink of the most recent 3000 years. What were they doing and why. What story were they trying to conjure. It just seemed to go on and on like a cancer rolling off greasy hills into a filthy ocean, ever swelling against a failing coastal stalwart.
The happy cats stared hopefully upwards, the clouds still puffed across the blue that shielded all from space, even managing to blot out a vapour trail or two from those metal shacks that that hurtled through the stratisphere. The cuckoo wriggled to the edge of the nest his mother had stolen only a month ago, the skeletons of his adopted siblings picked clean by ants below.
A car started chez Furdrine. The humans were off for their weekly shop. They crashed and waddled around as usual, they must be deaf to be able to cope with so much noise. They sped off as darker clouds started to congregate over the clear water, Furdrine and Woolie seemed to age in a second. Their whiskers bristled as a cooler air caressed a breeze that promised to flex muscle.
When humans are nowhere to be seen the statues are allowed to get up. The angel in the water stretched an elegant arch, a ballerina just for amusement this ominous morning. She clicked her greetings in her angelic tongue, the sounds had no precedent but somehow all of the garden's sentient beings understood. The metronome of nature was at a tipping point. Someone had to tame the humans again. They'd become drunk on black gold, stuffing dead animals into every orifice of their sordid existence.
The toad knew why. His warty existence plumbed the darkness on a daily basis. He had no time for happiness, the mere attempt of a smile made him feel depressed. His joy came from knowing, from avoiding illusions. With this flat-lining life he could taste the stink and where it came from. The toads were the species ideal for solving the tragedy that was about to occur.
Angel said Toad. Feature my thoughts in this garden. We must transmit. And they did.
From high up a beam of light shone down. A message from the edge of our galaxy appeared and wrote the following beneath the water:
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