The Cat Who Painted the Rain
There was a time when the village of Mizuno was filled with rivers.
Water sang in the gardens.
Raindrops tapped gently on the rooftops.
The fields glistened like mirrors.
But that was long ago.
Now the rivers were dust.
The fields were cracked.
And the sky above was pale and empty.
In that quiet village lived a tortoiseshell cat named Ame.
She was a painter.
Not of grand temples or golden dragons...
But of small things.
A single raindrop on a leaf.
A puddle reflecting a cat’s smiling face.
The shimmer of wet stones after a summer storm.
The other cats shook their heads.
“Paint will not bring the rain,” they said.
But Ame smiled softly.
“Perhaps not,” she whispered.
“But painting reminds me how it feels.”
One night, beneath a full moon, Ame set out her brushes beside the dry riverbed.
She painted the sky.
She painted the earth.
And as she worked, a soft voice rose from the stones.
“You paint what is lost,” it murmured.
A figure rose — shimmering like mist — a spirit with flowing hair of silver clouds and robes made of falling water.
It was Amegami — the Rain Spirit.
“You honor me,” said Amegami.
“But to wake the rain... you must paint not what it looks like... but what it feels like.”
Ame’s whiskers twitched.
She dipped her brush in the thinnest ink.
And she painted:
The hush of clouds before a storm.
The cool kiss of rain on sun-warmed fur.
The scent of wet earth rising like an old song.
When she finished, Amegami bowed low.
“You have remembered well,” the spirit whispered.
And with a breath softer than wind...
The first raindrops began to fall.
The rivers returned.
The fields turned green.
And in the center of the village, they built a small shrine — where Ame’s final painting hangs even now.
Not as magic.
Not as proof.
But as a memory.
Of how it feels.