The Black Cat

A black cat was sitting on an old, shabby bench in a cozy park. His shiny hide shimmered in the sun, and his golden eyes carefully tracked everything that was happening around him. The cat looked like he was sitting on a throne, ignoring the passers-by who were hurrying about their business.

Every day, this place became his little kingdom. From the bench, he could watch the games of children frolicking on the grass, and sparrows trying to figure out the crumbs left by caring townspeople. The black cat loved this moment. His large head, bowed to the ground, and neatly raised tail betrayed complete enjoyment of what was happening. He seemed to be slightly taller than the others, he was not bothered by the hustle and bustle.

Today, the cat noticed one girl sneaking in. She came closer, clutching handfuls of grass in her hands. She looked at him curiously, as if trying to figure out what he was thinking. The cat only lazily raised his head and patiently held her gaze. He knew that at any moment she could reach out to stroke him.

But the black cat was not one of those who aspired to tenderness. He liked to feel like a mystery, an object of admiration, but at the same time to remain in the shadows - in the world of his thoughts and dreams. So, stifling a yawn, he looked away again, concentrating on the birds that were jumping on the grass.

The breeze ruffled his hair, and the cat finally decided to stretch out, stretching out on the bench in all its glory. He felt like the master of this world, his black outfit was a symbol of inaccessibility and mystery. People passing by stopped to admire it, but no one dared to approach. The black cat knew that this was how it should be.

The sun was slowly starting to set, and the shadows were getting longer. The cat yawned once more, as if saying goodbye to the day, and decided it was time to return home. But before he left, he turned around to take another look at his shop, at his little kingdom, in which he was free, a strong and mysterious black cat.