161: Chapter 161 Lin Feng Makes a Cat Bowl

The cake lasted for three days, and the cat grew a bit rounder. Molly brought out an old scale and tried to get the cat to stand on it, but the cat refused. It crouched beside the scale and batted at the tray with its paw. Lin Feng picked the cat up and placed it on the scale, but it jumped right back down. After three attempts, Lin Feng gave up. He crouched in front of the counter, looking at the cat, and the cat looked back at him. "You've gotten fat." The cat didn't reply; it jumped onto the counter, walked over to the glass jar, and sat down, its tail tip twitching gently. Lin Feng reached out and stroked the cat's back. He could still feel the bones, but there was a thicker layer of flesh than before. He remembered there was a small piece of cake left on the cat's blue cloth that it hadn't finished until the next day, eating it slowly, bite by tiny bite, as if savoring it. Lin Feng felt that the cat hadn't just gotten fat; it had grown up. The cat had been in Xinfeng Town for a year now, changing from a scrawny gray cat into a plump one, from being afraid of people to rubbing against them, and from not knowing how to drink milk to waiting punctually on the steps at three every afternoon for Molly to bring out a saucer. Looking at the cat, Lin Feng suddenly wanted to make something for it. Not cake, not biscuits, but something for the cat to use. He thought for a moment; the cat had its hollow, and in the hollow, there was the blue cloth, the glass jar, and the cake. But there was no bowl. The saucer the cat used for milk belonged to Molly, not the cat itself. Lin Feng stood up, brushed off his pants, and went to ask Molly if she had any clay for making bowls. Molly was momentarily stunned. "You're going to make a bowl yourself?" Lin Feng nodded. "For the cat. It doesn't have its own bowl." Molly pointed toward the storage room. "There’s a bag of pottery clay in the back. I bought it when I first opened the shop. It’s been sitting there for a long time; I don't know if it's still usable." Lin Feng went to the storage room and unearthed a bag of pottery clay from a corner. The bag was dusty, its opening twisted shut with wire. He opened it and dug out a piece; the clay was soft, neither too dry nor too wet, still usable. He placed the clay on the counter, crouched down, and began to mold it.

He molded it very slowly, first rolling the clay into a ball and then pressing a hollow into the center with his thumb. The hollow grew deeper as he pressed, and the walls of the bowl became thinner as he pinched them. While he worked, he dipped his fingers in water to smooth out the cracks. The cat jumped onto the counter and sat nearby, watching Lin Feng mold the bowl. It reached out a paw and batted at the clay, leaving a paw print behind. Lin Feng looked at the print and didn't smooth it over, leaving it there. He shaped the bowl into a circle, the opening neither too large nor too small—just enough for the cat to fit its head inside. The base was thick and stable. On the side of the bowl was a cat's paw print, pressed there by the cat itself. Lin Feng placed the bowl on a shelf to dry. Molly said that once it was dry, it would need to be fired in a kiln before it could be used. Lin Feng nodded. "I'll wait."

While waiting for the bowl to dry, Lin Feng molded another one. This time he worked faster, his fingers steadier. The walls were thinner, and the rim was rounder. The cat reached out its paw and batted it again, leaving another print. Lin Feng looked at the paw print and smiled. "How many more stamps are you going to press?" The cat didn't answer; it rubbed its head against Lin Feng's hand, then jumped off the counter, walked back to the tree hollow, curled up on the blue cloth, and closed its eyes. Lin Feng placed the second bowl on the shelf as well. The two bowls sat side by side, one large and one small—the large one for the cat's milk and the small one for its cake. Both bowls had paw prints on them, both pressed by the cat itself.

Three days later, the bowls were dry. Molly put them into the kiln and fired them for a whole day. When they came out, the bowls had turned a creamy white and felt smooth to the touch, like porcelain. The paw prints were still there, clear and distinct, every toe visible. Lin Feng carried the bowls to the tree hollow and placed them on the blue cloth. The cat walked over, sniffed the bowls, then rubbed its head against the rim of one. It jumped into the hollow, sat beside the bowls, and looked at Lin Feng. Lin Feng poured milk into the large bowl and placed the cake in the small one. The cat lowered its head and began to drink the milk. It drank slowly, lap by lap, different from how it used to drink from the saucer. The saucer was thin, while the bowl was thick; the saucer was cold, while the bowl was warm. After finishing the milk, it ate the cake. Once done, it licked its lips, rubbed its head against the rim of the bowl, then curled up on the blue cloth and closed its eyes. Lin Feng crouched by the hollow, watching the cat. The tip of its tail twitched gently, slowly, beat by beat. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and left.

Margaret heard about it and came out from the Restaurant to see the cat's bowls. She crouched by the hollow, looking at the two bowls; the paw prints on the sides were very clear. "You made these?" Lin Feng nodded. "The cat pressed them itself." Margaret reached out and touched the rim of a bowl; it was smooth and warm. "Does it like them?" Lin Feng said, "It does. When it drinks milk, it buries its head deeper than before. The bowl is deep, so it doesn't have to lower its head as much, but its head still goes all the way in. It likes the walls of the bowl pressing against its face." Margaret smiled. "You even observed that." Lin Feng said, "I had nothing to do while crouching there, so I noticed."

In the afternoon, Old Zhou came to deliver the mail. He parked his vehicle by the hollow, saw the two bowls, and crouched down to look at them for a long time. He reached out and touched the paw prints on the sides. "Are these the cat's?" Lin Feng nodded. Old Zhou measured the size of the prints with his fingers. "It's grown up. When it first arrived, its paws weren't this big." Lin Feng said, "Yeah. It grew up. The bowls grew up too." Old Zhou laughed. "Can bowls grow up?" Lin Feng said, "The bowls don't grow. But the cat will use them for a long time. Over time, the bowls will get old. When they're old, it's like they've grown." Old Zhou stood up, rummaged through his bag for a letter, and handed it to Lin Feng. "Yours." Lin Feng opened it; there was only one piece of paper inside with a single line of text: "Lin Feng, does the cat like the bowls you made?" There was no signature. Lin Feng took out a pen and paper and wrote a reply. "It likes them. When it drinks milk, its head is buried inside. When it eats cake, it licks it clean. There are even paw prints it pressed itself on the bowls; when it pressed them, it knew they were its own." He posted the letter on the wall, walked back, and crouched by the hollow. Old Zhou was also crouching, watching the cat sleep. The cat was curled up on the blue cloth, its belly rising and falling, its paws twitching occasionally as if chasing something in its dreams.

In the evening, Lin Feng sat on the steps in front of the Restaurant. He wasn't crouching; he was sitting. Margaret came out with a plate of mushrooms and sat beside him. The two of them sat there, looking at the sky. The stars lit up one by one, just like yesterday. The cat climbed out of the tree hollow, walked to their feet, sat down, and looked up at the stars. It watched for a long time, then closed its eyes, curled into a ball, and began to purr. Margaret looked at the cat. "It drank more milk than usual today using its own bowls." Lin Feng said, "The bowl is deep. It couldn't see the bottom while drinking, so it just kept going. It only saw the bottom after it finished." Margaret laughed. "Did you do that on purpose?" Lin Feng said, "No. I just made the bowl deep. But the cat likes it." The wind blew, carrying the faint scent of pottery clay, the aroma of coffee, and the fresh sweetness of mushrooms. Lin Feng closed his eyes and breathed it in. He opened his eyes, stood up, and brushed off his pants. "I'm going to sleep." Margaret also stood up. "Are you going to make something else for the cat tomorrow?" Lin Feng thought for a moment. "Yes. I'll make a cushion. The blue cloth is old; it's time to replace it." Margaret asked, "Do you know how to sew?" Lin Feng said, "No. I can learn." Margaret smiled. "You learn everything." Lin Feng said, "I have nothing to do while crouching, so I learn." He turned and walked into the Restaurant, and Margaret followed him. The door closed, and the lights went out. The cat jumped down from the steps, walked back to the tree hollow, and curled up on the blue cloth, burying its head in its bowl—no, the bowl was empty; it was just resting its head on the rim as if using it as a pillow. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting the cat's shadow on the ground—small and round, like a ball of yarn. The wind blew, and the shadow wavered but did not dissipate. Lin Feng stood inside the Restaurant, looking out the window. He saw the cat's shadow, the shadows of the bowls, and the shadow of the tree. He watched for a long time, then drew the curtains and went to sleep.

[End of Chapter 161]