Once there was a small cat who lived near a great wooden gate. The cat had once been chased there by a dog, and in its panic it clawed the wood and pressed its body flat against the gate. Though the dog had long since gone, the cat never forgot the feeling. Every time it neared the gate, its fur stood on end.
Years passed. The cat grew lean and quick, always watching, always calculating. It learned to survive by staying away from gates. “Safer that way,” it told itself. But each time it passed the gate from afar, its heart still tightened.
One spring morning, the wind carried the scent of fish from beyond the gate. The cat’s whiskers twitched. Hunger stirred. Something deeper than fear stirred too — a memory of playing in the fields as a kitten, before the chase, when the world felt open.
The cat crouched in the grass. It thought, If I walk to that gate, I might feel the old terror again. My body will remember the dog. But if I never walk there, I will remain a frightened cat forever.
So, the cat padded up. Its paws trembled, but the sun was warm. The gate stood silent. No dog appeared. The cat touched its nose to the wood. Nothing happened — except its heart beat strong and clear.
In that moment, the cat realized: The mark on the gate was only its own claw-scratch from long ago. The danger had passed. And its courage was now greater than its fear.
The gate creaked open, and the cat slipped through. On the other side was a wide garden, full of sunlight and fishponds. The cat stretched, tail high, no longer crouching, no longer clawing.
Moral: The past may leave marks, but courage in small doses can teach the body that the danger is gone. Each step into the old place is a chance to move from survival into freedom.
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