Owl had always lived in the run down barn of the Farmer. Since he was an owlet, he had hunted from the cool, shadowy rafters, swooping down and catching whatever small rodents that happened to be foolish enough to scamper out, no longer protected by the safety of the walls.
Owl lived a content life, albeit with one exception. That exception was none other than the Cat. Now, the Cat belonged to the Farmer since he had found her as a kitten abandoned by her mother, curled up, alone and trembling in the corner of the wheat fields. He had raised her to protect the grain from mice and she diligently fulfilled her purpose.
Be that as it may, it did not sit well with the Owl. She took his food, she made supper come by harder at times and what right did she have to intrude on his territory? Cat would also watch him with those lamp-like eyes of hers, waiting till he swooped down low enough so she could try and bat his tail feathers causing him to shriek and bear down on her with his talons.
They soon understood, despite their grudging acknowledgment of each other, that it was both their presences that caused the mice to appear every night. If Cat batted at the wall and scared the mice which ran in Owl's direction, it was his turn to feast. If Owl screeched and hopped on the bales of hay, Cat was the one to be victorious. And so their mutual respect grew and a friendship formed. Or at least a pact, of sorts.
One day, Cat did not come as usual for the evening hunt. Owl grew worried. She had never missed a day for as long as he remembered. He clicked his beak and waited for a while, watching the barely open door so that he wouldn't miss her ghostly presence. Yet he waited in vain. She did not come. Owl decided it was to go search for his friend. He spread his wings and soundlessly flapped into the twilight. He would hunt for her.
Owl found the cat in a bucket at the bottom of a well, next to a bubbling brook. The Cat had fallen ill earlier that day and the Farmer saw no further use for her. He placed her in a chipped, green bucket and lowered it down a no longer used well. When she tried to climb out, she would tip the bucket and drown.
The Owl watched his friend lie motionless for a few seconds before dropping down onto the handle of the pail. He grasped and pulled it up, higher and higher, screeching with effort as he pulled at dead-weight. The Farmer who was not far away, heard the commotion and watched in disbelief as the Owl lifted both the Cat and the bucket out from the well. Owl didn't have much strength left after the ordeal. Tired, he faltered once, twice, the beat of his wings heavy and lumbering and accidentally landed the bucker in the steam.
The brook gurgled as the torrent of water pushed the bucket downstream, Owl desperately clinging to the handle. The jolting woke the Cat and she turned her head to look up at him. She meowed. He stared at her and then gave a slow flap. The green bucket sped down the stream, soon out of sight.
That night, Farmer went home and told a story to his children, of The Owl and The Cat. It started something like this:
"The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea,
in a beautiful pea-green boat…"
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