"Don't point at the moon, or your ears will be cut!"

 

My mother slapped my hand down. I wasn't exactly the curious type, nor the sharpest. When she turned away, I lifted my finger toward the full moon, watching as my small finger blocked the glowing orb and left only its pale halo shining in the sky.

 

That same night, I dreamt of low morning stars and a lady in simple, flowing robes. She was prettier than my mother, and cradled a candle close to her chest. When I met her eyes, she smiled and uncurled a finger. It was dainty with short trimmed nails. 

 

When I awoke, a sharp pain throbbed in my ear and tiny splotches of blood stained my pillow. Panicked, I ran downstairs to my mother's flower shop, clutching my ear. She barely glanced at me, busy arranging bouquets, and told me not to bother her. I shut up at first. A little later, a woman appeared outside the shop. Her long, white sleeves covered her hands, and as the fans cooling the flowers outside the shop blew, they lifted just enough for me to catch a glimpse of sharp red nails.

 

But I was small, who'd believe me? My mother insisted no one had been there without even going out to look as I had begged her to.

***

The door with grimy glass panels screeched as I shoved it with my shoulder. Old books, dust and the faint stench of stale, canned fish hit my nose. The hot blood coursing through my body slowed as I took a moment to register my surroundings. Books were stacked from floor to ceiling but an oak counter parted them to make space for itself. A small, rusted nameplate hung over it with ‘Pneuma Bookshop' etched into it.

"Good evening."

A pair of twitching pointed orange and black ears emerged from behind the counter. "Hello," I replied almost immediately.

The twitching stopped and a chubby calico cat hopped onto the counter. Its green eyes regarded me intensely. "Are you brave or brainless?" the same voice pierced the tension. "You could be speaking to thin air but have no regard for judgement."

I wasn't sure why I reached out my hand but I did. I was quite used to these things. "Two things could be true at the same time," the cat remarked as it sniffed my hand. 

When the cat was done with its inspection, it nudged my hand away with a paw. "I don't s'pose you'd know what we have here," it said. 

"You sell old books."

"Nothing here can help with your situation," it said. "Not even luck can intervene."

"Then, do you have a book on pranks?"

The cat rolled onto its back. "You have a phone that's too big for your head. Why'd you need a book?"

 

I gritted my teeth, now remembering why I wound up here. "If you want attention," the cat yawned, "I'd suggest the cooking section. Go all the way straight and turn left. There are many cuisines to choose from. I'm sure you'd find the one you're most familiar with"

"There's too many to go through," I whined.

"Man, you're lazy," the cat grumbled and hopped off the counter. "But I guess you can't reach beyond the second shelf."

The cat returned with a small volume, flipping it open with its nose. "Here," it said as it tapped a page with its paw. "Numbing and spicy chicken-stuffed morel mushrooms. Even babies can make it."

Saliva pooled in my mouth as I read the recipe but my heart twisted as I saw the spices required. "You smell like wildflowers," the cat remarked. "I'd reckon some morels are hiding amongst the trees nearby. They don't grow for long but they're currently in season. How fortunate."

I stared at the cat, silent. "The nice old lady at the grocer round the corner also sells them and those spices," it continued. "If you'd like an alternative, I'd recommend chicken soup!"

The cat rolled about while smacking its lips. It paused to look at me with narrowed eyes after a bit. "Don't tell me..."

I nodded. I believed it would know what to do. I handed it ‘my' phone with the lock screen on. The background was a picture of me holding a single daisy, and the tip of a petal underlined the prompt for a numbered password. The cat rubbed its paw against the smooth screen. On the fifth try, there was a ‘click'. 

It turned up its nose at me with a grin. I typed in my home address into the navigation app haltingly. Fortunately, my mother had hammered it into me when we moved here. "Hurry along, it'll be a while before you make it back," the cat said. "How would you feel if she were doing exactly what you're doing now?"

I bowed my head. "C-can I have this book?" I asked under my breath. "Even if I don't have money?"

The cat huffed. "Make me some chicken stuffing and I'll consider."

"I'll come back," I promised. "What's your name?"

"How rude of you to only ask for it now," the cat remarked. "To be honest, I have many names. You can call me whatever you want."

"Can I call you P-Pierre?" My lips slowly parted as I said the name of the chef I saw in the newspaper a while back.

"If you think it suits me, sure."

I managed to find the grocer Pierre mentioned and hid away the fresh morels in the fridge. While my mother worked, I sat watching the clock through watery eyes, waiting for my stuffed morels to finish steaming. As Pierre had said, even babies could make it.

And I remembered us loving every bite of it. I dropped Pierre's portion off outside the bookshop, which was closed when I went.

Morels only grew in spring around here and were tastiest then. As the years passed, spring became our season, marked by the taste of morels and quiet walks down Pneuma Lane. I never brought up Pierre to my mother but I could occasionally catch glimpses of it curled up on the counter through the ever-grimy windows.

I only spoke to Pierre once more after that.  I caught it mid-paw lick, perched on the counter like no time had passed.

"Looking good," Pierre remarked.

"What do you have for a date night?" I asked.

Pierre's bobtail wiggled gleefully, a spark of joy lighting its eyes.

***

The last time I entered Pneuma Bookshop was on its closing day. People flitted in and out of the shop, pausing to snap photos of the little counter and its sign. I held Sorina close to me lest she wandered off.

"Ah, Samaya. It's been a while." 

The elderly bookshop owner, Marco, shuffled over. "Want me to look after Sorina while you look around? There's not much left, I'm afraid."

"I can take more off your hands," I smiled.

"Be my guest." Marco said, "It's always our pleasure to have you come around more rather than once or twice every year. Get some broccoli from Maggie later, will you?"

"You forget that we lived more than three hours away," I said. "I only managed to move closer when I got married."

Marco ruffled Sorina's hair. "I'm glad that life shaped you into a good person."

I found myself staring at a dusty maneki-neko on the counter. "Would you like it?" Marco patted it. "If I had to give it to someone, I'd rather it be you."

Marco thrust the figure into my hands before I could say thanks. "Long before you moved here, a cat made the shops here its shelter. She was here long enough for my business to pick up and after that, I never saw her again,"  Marco reminisced. "I bought this to remind me of her."

"A lucky cat," I thought aloud.

"I believe she must've gone somewhere else that needed it," he sighed and turned to Sorina, who was staring at the figure keenly. "I'm old, I'm satisfied, and it's time I passed this on to someone. But... I can tell that you two have plenty."

I carefully slipped the figure into my bag. "Samaya," Marco said. "Before you leave, could you help me with the glass windows?"

"That wouldn't be a problem."

"Ah... I'm so lucky to have you here."