Quackledorph the Cat

   Quackledorph stared down at her paws--as she seemed to be doing so often these days--as the cats around her chattered about the successful hunting trip that had taken place the day before.
   Quackledorph always felt out of place with this group of cats. She knew she should feel lucky, because she had a nice cozy house and nice people to take care of her. However, she had never quite fit in with the cats living at the house. They were not like her in any way. Quackledorph had shiny silver fur; the rest of the cats had dark black fur and white mittens.   Quackledorph liked to run and jump and climb; the other cats liked to lie around and groom each-other’s coats. Not to mention, everyone else had normal names like “Socks”, “Fuzzy”, or “Kitty”.
   Ever since she was a kitten, Quackledorph had wished she could be like the other cats. She hadn’t accepted herself for who she was. It was really quite sad. The others pitied her, but they were too selfish to accept her into one of their many cliques.
   That was how Quackledorph lived her life: On the sidelines. Looking on as the other cats had fun.
   One day Quackledorph was padding alongside the pond, pondering her miserable existence, when she came upon a family of ducks. Something about the ducks intrigued her, so she walked closer, her paws treading lightly so as not to frighten the strange-looking creatures with the webbed feet. One of the ducklings broke away from his place in the line where he had been swimming alongside his brothers and sisters. The duckling swam to the shore and waddled toward Quackledorph on unsteady feet. He stopped just inches away from her, stretched up as high as his little body would allow, and touched his bill to Quackledorph’s nose.
   Quackledorph’s whiskers quivered, a purr rumbling up in her throat. The duckling quacked and Quackledorph meowed a goodbye. She watched with sad eyes as the duckling returned to the water and rejoined his family.
   That night as Quackledorph sat down to eat her supper, she turned to the cat sitting beside her, a tom with unnaturally large ears. She had never made an effort to talk to the other cats before, but there was something about this tom that made Quackledorph want to talk to him. Perhaps it was his ears. They were much larger then any of the other cats’; for some reason this made Quackledorph feel more like an equal speaking to him.
   She poured out her heart to the tom. When she recounted her trip to the pond that morning, he seemed to be especially interested.
   “So, you really liked that little duckling?” he meowed.
   “Yes. He just made me feel so… Accepted. Like I belonged right there at the pond. With the ducks.”
   “You would be happy there, wouldn’t you?”
   Quackledorph thought about this. “Yes. But I am a cat. I can’t live at the pond.”
   “Do you like being a cat?”
   “No. I hate being a cat.” Quackledorph admitted.
   The tom smiled at her, his eyes sparkling. “Then here’s my advice: go to the pond at noon tomorrow, and with your eyes closed, lap up the water from the center. While you’re drinking, concentrate on how much you like the ducks.”
   Quackledorph was thoroughly confused. Why did this tom want her to do all this crazy stuff?
   All night she tossed and turned in her nest, trying to decide whether she should listen to him or not, or if this was just some kind of silly prank.
   When she woke the next morning, a quick glance at the sun told her it was nearly noon. She yawned and stretched her legs.
   The tom had seemed so nice. Quackledorph decided to trust him.
She raced to the pond, arriving out of breath. She stood panting beneath a willow tree. Now how would she be able to get to the water in the center of the pond?
   She thought about this serious dilemma as the mother duck suddenly swam up to the shore. She quacked and flapped her wings continuously. Quackledorph was worried that something was wrong, so she padded over to the duck. The mother duck gestured to her back.
   Finally, Quackledorph caught on. She realized that the duck was offering her a ride. As crazy as this seemed--a cat taking a ride on a duck’s back!--Quackledorph just decided to go for it. Stranger things had happened, after all.
   The duck swam into the center of the pond, then stopped. Quackledorph closed her eyes, leaned down, and lapped up some water. She focused her thoughts on the kind duck that had somehow known she had needed a ride in the pond.
   When Quackledorph opened her eyes again, the mother duck was swimming a few feet away. Quackledorph panicked. If the duck was over there, then that meant she was in the middle of the pond all by herself. And she couldn’t swim!
   Quackledorph looked down at her paws, but was surprised to see webbed feet in their place! She wiggled her feet, testing them to see if they were really hers. They were.
   She opened her mouth to speak, and… Quackledorph QUACKED.   Quackledorph was no longer a cat. She was a duck.
   Quackledorph had never felt so happy in her life. She swam after the family of ducks, whom she spotted at the other side of the pond. They swam to meet her, greeting her with loud happy quacks.
   They accepted her into their little family, and that was Quackledorph’s happy ending.