Record 10 – Colors Above the Trees
We walked in silence for a while, letting the city stretch its long empty streets around us. Midtown felt like a giant museum no one visited anymore – everything just standing there, waiting for eyes that never came. My paws had stopped trembling. My head felt clearer with each step, almost steady. Repsik kept pace beside me, his tail low, his ears alert, his mind clearly chewing on something he hadn’t said yet.
When we turned toward the north, he finally spoke. “There’s something I didn’t check. Something I didn’t want to check alone.” His voice sounded tight in his throat. “Central Park.”
I slowed. “What about it?”
He took a deep breath, one of those long, shaky ones humans make when they’re about to admit something big. “This morning, before I came south… I saw colors above the trees.”
“Birds?” I asked.
He shook his head hard. “No. Not birds. Not drones either. I’ve seen drones. They buzz and shake and flash wrong. This wasn’t like that.”
“Then what?”
Repsik looked up at the stretch of sky between the buildings. “Light,” he said. “But moving. Sliding. Changing. Bright, but soft at the edges. Not like lamps. Not like screens. Like… colors trying to swim.”
The image sent a ripple through my chest – not fear this time. This was something else. Curiosity, sharp and warm, waking up like a new instinct.
“Did it make any sound?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Not a hum, not a buzz, nothing. Just light. Quiet. Too quiet. Moving too smoothly to be something natural.” His fur stirred as if the memory brushed him from behind.
I felt my heartbeat shift. It skipped once, then settled deeper, stronger. The idea of something strange above those trees pulled at me. Not a threat – not yet – but a calling. Like the world wanted to show us something and waited for us to be brave enough to look.
Repsik must have felt the same tug, because he stared north, then back at me. “I didn’t go there,” he admitted. “I was afraid.” A small pause. “But now… maybe we should.”
The breeze carried the faint scent of the park – leaves, earth, old rain waiting in the grass. The treetops swayed in the distance, quiet and patient, like they knew we were coming.
Something waited there.
Something bright.
Something strange.
Something that might explain everything or make things worse.
I met Repsik’s gaze, and without another word, we started walking toward the line of green shadows moving in the wind.
Repsik said he saw colors moving above the trees in Central Park.
Not birds. Something else.
We went there.
Editor’s Note – from the Chief Editor of Cats Over the World
What you’ve just read – these first ten records – captures the earliest hours of a day that changed history. Before the councils, before the cities rebuilt themselves, before Murria became the voice of an entire world, she was simply a cat trying to understand why the morning felt broken.
These ten entries show the first threads coming together:
a silent city,
a frightened mind opening,
another mind answering back,
and a world that suddenly demanded more from its animals than instinct alone.We see Murria step outside for the first time.
We see Repsik emerge from the shadows, carrying his own fears.
We witness the moment two ordinary cats realize they are no longer ordinary.
And we glimpse the strange signs that appeared above Central Park – lights that would later be studied, debated, and feared by many.This is the foundation of their journey: curiosity fighting with fear, instinct giving way to reason, and two cats choosing to walk together through a city too quiet to feel real.
As editor, I will offer these brief reflections from time to time – not to change her story, but to help you follow its shape. The records remain unchanged. The voice remains hers.
Ahead lies the rest of the day, and with it, the unraveling of the mystery that began with a single broken morning.