Central Park blinked awake in lights of red and green, the early December air painting the horizon. A dusting of snow scattered on the busy sidewalks and roadways; forecasted to grow several feet over the next couple of days from the human on the television screen. As the snow simmered down, I watched out my owner’s bay window in a towering apartment building.

That day, someone drew my attention while I perched. My eyes followed her blazing red jacket, which seemed to illuminate against the brilliance of the night. I leapt down from the sill, my paws brushing over the cold hardwood floors as I snuck my way out of the front cat door. My owners wouldn’t mind– they never bothered to give me a collar with my name or a bed to lay on.

Soon, I caught up to her, maneuvering my way past rushing humans that could very well harm me if I wasn’t careful. Her eyes were of a profound blue. A shade I never knew existed to be so deep. She paused, her lips twitching up to a faint smile when she noticed me.

 “Hello.” She whispered, crouching down to my height. I wished I could speak something in return, but all that followed was a nervous mew.

“Hey.” The girl repeated, her hand weaving through the curls of my thick, gray coat. A purr rumbled aloud from my throat at the attention.

She giggled, scratching behind my ear. I placed a paw on her knee to get closer to her, nudging her hand gently. My smile was larger than it had ever been before. But then, she suddenly sighed and set me down, standing back up. Did I do something wrong?

 “Go home now.” Home? I tilted my head. “I have to go, and so do you.” It was then that she began to walk away.

“Please don’t!” I longed to respond. A loud mew is all that escaped my mouth as I followed her until I was blocking her path. I sat down on the crystals of snow, peering up at her.

The girl sighed once more. “Well…” I rested one of my paws on her boot, not tearing my gaze away as I silently pleaded with her. “Look, I have to go. If I don’t, then I won’t be able to come back.”

With that, my hope vanished, padding back on the sidewalk with a mew quieter than a mouse. It was hard for me to let go, yet I had no choice but do to so. I watched as she walked off, her boots hitting the snow mounds with urgency until she was no longer in my sight. Instead of leaving to return to my owner’s, I waited to see her again. I found a dampened box in the closest alleyway, curling myself up into a ball to sleep for the night. It was more frigid than I was expecting it to be, but I didn’t let that deter me.

     She was worth it.

     Come the next morning, the tips of my pelt were bristled with newly laid snow. I shook off my coat and looked around before eventually bounding out onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t long before I heard the sounds of her boots crunching near.

 “Hello!” I called out, not that she’d understand. “I’m here!” My ears twitched when she stopped in her tracks. Did she hear me?

The girl came over, her steps cautious. “Hello.” She smiled genuinely as she crouched down beside me.

“I’m happy to see you again!”

She picked me up, which earned a surprised mew, and set me into the hood of her jacket. My purr was already erupting like thunder. She began walking once more, each step more careful than the last as we maneuvered the seemingly endless sidewalks. It didn’t take long for my shiver to fade in the sunlight. When a cool breeze swept us by, her shiver pulled my attention back to her. Pressing my paws closer to her within the hood, I hoped that what I was trying would keep her warm.

Where are we going? I wondered as her pace quickened.

“We’re almost there.” The girl reassured me, as though she could hear my very thoughts. Where’s there?

Her movements began to startle me the faster she went, her boots hitting the ice and snow below with less caution.

“Almost, don’t worry.” She whispered in a breath, slowing down immediately. “I’m sorry.” She reached back and stroked the top of my head, causing my eyes to close briefly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay! Why are you sorry?”

 She stopped by an alleyway and sat down, taking me out of her hood. I looked up at her and purred as she rested my paws back down. At the sound of her sigh, my purr stopped. Is she leaving again?

 I brushed against her legs desperately, but it was no use.

 “I have to go–” No, no! Don’t! She stood up, murmuring to me. “I’m sorry…”

I leaped up onto a nearby fire escape and crawled my way through an open window. I didn’t want to be left behind again. Yet, she ran. Through clouds in my eyes, I watched her go. She was crying. I couldn’t bear it. Why was she crying?

 I didn’t know if she’d come the next day as the sun rose. With the stretch of my paws against the roof of an air vent. For a few moments, I rested there as I saw the streets already begin to flood with humans in a hurry. I saw her again, taking off down the sidewalk with a backpack strapped on her shoulders. The freezing air hugged my paws as I hopped down from one staircase to the next on the side of the apartment building. When I reached the ground, she must not have seen me as she nearly trampled me over.

She looked both ways before bending down to my level, taking her backpack off of her shoulders and unzipping it. “Come here,” She spoke quietly, picking me up and setting me down gently in her backpack, “You’re safe now.” I peeked my head out of the bag. Were we both suffering the same? My thoughts were distracted when she touched my nose. I ducked back into the backpack in time for her to zip it. As her path matched those around us, I closed my eyes and curled up, more at home than I had been before.

 I wasn’t asleep for long, as by the time I was waking up, I saw her walk up to a several-story brick building, the door opening with a creek as he hand turned the knob. Upon her sitting down on a chair, she slid the backpack off of her shoulders and lifted me out, my paws pressing against the warmth of the floor. I glanced around with a curious gaze, admiring how the walls were covered with various designs and colorful artwork. I padded around the studio, my tail twisting around half-open paints and chairs. I watched as she took out a canvas and some oils that seemed different from the others, pulling my attention back onto her.

Two hours passed until her painting was completed, brushing my body against her legs. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope into somewhere unknown, somewhere mystic and beautiful all the same. I didn’t have a chance to appreciate it for long as an unknown voice rang out for her from down one of the halls.

 “Willow!” The voice called, aching of bitterness and anger, causing her to scramble up from her seat.

  “You have to go, please…” Willow brokenly muttered to me, “I’m sorry…”

I followed her words, jumping down from where I had found myself seated on the table and onto the floor. She ushered me over to the door and opened it for me, hesitantly stepping out.

“Willow!” Her name was called again, frustration seeping through its grain.

I found my way to an open window, pausing on the ledge at the sound of whoever was chiding her. Is that why she never allowed me to stay?

Days morphed into weeks of her and I continuing the same routine. Every day that fled by, her smile was becoming difficult to see on her face again. I was perched next to her on a bench, my front paws over her legs as passersby in Central Park paid no mind. Frozen crystals danced down from the sky.

“You need a name,” Willow pondered allowed suddenly, perking my head up at her words, “I’ll call you… Rudy. What do you think?” She scratched behind my ear, a purr leaving my throat at the contact. I love it.

  “Rudy, do you want to get away from here?” She asked, barely loud enough for me to catch.

“We can create our own Wonderland. What do you think?”

 Wonderland.

Her arms encircled me as she placed a red scarf around my neck, then placed me into the snug hood of her jacket. Her smile was the loudest I’ve ever seen.

We were creating our own Wonderland from the beginning. From all the broken pieces, we found a way to piece them together. Maybe it wasn’t found under a Christmas tree or of something beyond extraordinary, but we made it happen.

It was Christmas Eve. From now on, we were celebrating together now and every year after.

This was written by our contributing writer, Claire Kroening.