Officer Reichhörnchen was home reading the most recent manuscript sent ‘anonymously’ to his own clowder. 

    Fylgia stretched across his entire lap, forcing his sixteen other cats to arrange themselves like furry bon-bons loafed on top and around both officer Reichhörnchen and commanding officer Flygia.

       “Okay, meine kleinen distlekatzen- Uncle Rob will read to you the next stupid cat story from Alex.”

       “Who is Alex?” inquired a fluffy brunette kitty with beautifully soft eyes

        Rob honestly did not have a good way to answer without breaking OpSec or their tiny kitty hearts, so he chose the simplest.

        “He’s a Journeyman.”

         “Ohhhhhhhhhh, Another Braucher?!”

          “Ich kann nicht Nein sagen.  It’s …complicated.”

           “Why, do they follow Loki or Einspiggle or something…?” … asked an older Tomcat sitting on his own hexsign pillow, but he asked not as a question but as a right Bastard of intentional provocation.

         “Guys.  I am just going to read this, the sooner I get through it, the sooner we can eat.  Flygia refuses to move until we complete this.  It’s shorter than the Edda’s”

          “Is it shorter than the Hamaval?”  Inquires Hunter-cat.

            “Not if we keep up the chit-chat.  Now I’m reading this- pretend we are having a sumbel and show some adab- I meant Frith-  Orlog, Even!”

…and with the Distlefink cats and kittens settled around their favorite Federal officer [Fylgia the Bobcat]  Rob began to read the incredibly strange story.

*******************

“The Squirrel, the Simorgh, and The Yggdrasil”

   Rob cleared his throat, Flygia purred,    

“Officer Alex accidentally took an extra dose of chelation and found himself as a blue, many winged tiger with too many tails,  carried to a nesting platform, far above the burning world tree that was now fully engulfed in firely conflagration by a rather affronted copper & white gryphon. And left there.

      There was an electric kettle, a fridge with fresh cuts of heretics and hypocrites, a prayer rug, a Qur’an, as well as a copy of “How to Win Allies & Dominate Enemies; the 48 Laws of Sufi-Adjacent Statecraft”

     And no blankets.  Not a single blanket- and the burning Yggdrasil was so far down it appeared like a small meatball of fire against the patchwork checkerquilt of dying farmland surrounding it, without providing a spec of useful warmth.

     Of course, in full utility climbing harness, was that same Deitsch Squirrel, his straw hat squished under his orange helmet and the brighter neon orange suspenders of his climbing gear which entirely clashed with his cornflower blue shirt, brown suspenders, and tiny Squirrel blue-jeans he purchased on sale at Shady Maple.”

       Hunter-cat chortled from his hex pillow.  “Sounds like Simorgh knows our

deep Distlefink lore.”

“Hush you, let me continue-” chastised Reichhörnchen to the cat.
    “Allow me to continue …  The squirrel, who states he is not Ratatoskr, but the Pennsylvania Deitsch superior version: Hexen-Reichhörnchen , which, at the Pagoda, has been simplified to “Hexen-Chan” by friendly Japanese tourists to the noble Deitch lands.”

“HEXENCHAN?!” Exclaimed four of the kittens in a riot of laughter wearing identical straw hats.
      “Well, that’s  whats is written,” chided Rob, looking the four of them straight in their little kitty glazzies,

     “Anyway, HexenChan’s straw hat never recovered as he was still able to stare down the perplexed [and chilly] Alex Tiger who could not seem to keep his wings and tails untangled properly outside of his tiger-cave.

         ‘Oh great HexenChan, who is totally, one hundred percent a diamox hallucination.  I prayed to Allah for Guidance and found myself…well, here.”

        Hexen-Chan brought out a tiny notebook and pen from his tiny back-pocket.  The Spiral bound notebook read “Mystic Dream Interpretation: Feild Edition- Aryan adjacent faiths”  and the little Squirrel put on his tiny glasses and started reading from his tiny list:

Another cat interrupted, “Does this list exist and can we purchase it?”  

   Rob could feel a headache forming.  He can’t reach his own diamox covered in cats, however, so he continued.

“Not spiral bound, but we certainly have dream interpretation as a significant part of our path.  Now please, for the love of Freyja, let me continue so we can have schnitzel after, bitte?”

    The cats once again loafed in obedient silence to their Murshīd like Braucher.

“…You have found yourself in a mystical metaphor dream sequence, with the help of this Guide,” He pointed at himself, then continued, “…We can determine the category of dream, belief system of origin, and best suggested actions to obtain the most meaning and least damage.  Ask the soldier if they would like to begin…trust begins with agency.”

The squirrel in the blue shirt looked up at the blue tiger expectantly,

    “I consent” replied the winged blue Alex-tiger with too many tails.

     “Excellent!  Asking for help is the first step to greater wisdom. We are already assuming you have appealed to God first, correct?”

     “Rictig” replied the tiger

      “Excellent, part of enduring mystical experiences is surrending all logic and agency to the Divine.  Not rodents nor men… no matter how adorable and competent the present rodent may be…”

    Another elder cat named Graham interrupted,  “Rob, did you write this?!”

“Nein.  Please, there is not nearly enough Deitschlisch here, clearly….Now let’s continue with the questions inside the narrative, bitte…?”

Flygia purred in agreement, Rob continued to read,

“Okay Tiger, Next question: Are any significant religious figures present in the dream presently or prior to the arrival of your field officer?”

    “Too confusing.  The field officer is a religious figure for Urglaawe”

-The kitties on Rob Reichhörnchen’s couch giggled-
      “No he isn’t, because you pronounced it wrong.  Ur-glaav-ah.  It isn’t difficult.  There is no such thing as Urr-glaah-weh, no matter how you try to make it a ‘thing’.  URGLAAWE.”

-the cats all started laughing-

     “Okay.  One Urglaawe Mufti, pronounced UR-GLAAV-AH…and a Murshīd”

-The cats now took ten minutes to calm before Braucher Reichhörnchen could continue the narrative.

So, Rob tried again:
  “So the Squirrel says: “You & I are only two you have seen?”

      “I am not the Murshīd, there was a Gryphon who dropped me here.  It seems to be a nesting platform made of steel going straight through the burning Yggdrasil.”

Another little distlecat asked “What is a Murshīd?”

A cat with dreadlocked fur replied,  “Like Rob, but Muslim”

“Thank you, Norris.  Can we continue?”

Cat-Norris nodded with enthusiasm.

      “’Fantastic,’ said the handsome Squirrely Braucher, that means the old ways remain fortified during the cycle of burnt to rebirth…but you should count yourself.  Three clerics in a tree has special numeric significance”

      “It does?” asked the tiger- Simorgh

       “Certainly, it means it makes it easier to keep you in one place verses chasing you all over the 9 realms for fifteen minutes.  Let’s look at the situation rationally.  Look below you, what do you see?”  Asked the squirrel, tapping his pen on his official little notebook.

     “I see a burning Yggdrasil and dead fields”

      “Excellent.  I mean, not excellent –  but JaVoll on the improvement to your eyesight.”

        “Vielen Danke,” replied Alex the blue winged tiger, “It’s because my glasses are triple coated and photogrey…no improvements, just better tech” and sure enough, HexenChan noticed the tiger was wearing sunglasses.

      “So, you have food, you are not on fire, there is no danger, so what, precisely, is the issue?” The squirrel asked, completely oblivious to the slight sway of the tower and the lack of claw purchase on the steel platform.  The squirrel was wearing suction-cup shoes and did not notice.  Squirrels tended not to care about the stability of distant branches much, they could always jump.

       Alex the tiger was built more like the type of Trism that flies dramatically, barely soaring over the tree line, artfully, dragging his own tails through golden hour light in great spectacle.  The wings were NOT high altitude tested.

    “The danger is, this isn’t a cave, I am uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to get down without crashing.  The pole is metal, so I can not safely climb it down – and at this altitude, I would exhaust myself and crash before managing anything like soaring…”

    Alex the Tiger leaned in close to the squirrel and whispered [although a tiger whisper is still very squirrel-loud] his very greatest secret: “I am not very aerodynamic.”

     Then, Alex the tiger dramatically mock-fainted.

      The squirrel-vaetirr sighed and continued with the checklist.

      “So, Um es klarzustellen: You are on a nesting platform, with your favorite foods, your favorite book, NEW reading material, and everything below you in on fire…?”

        “Doroste”  replied Alex.

         “Richtig, let’s pretend I don’t speak Ramen noodles,” muttered HexenChan, “…and explain, again, why you want help getting down from here?”

       “Am kalt. Sehr kalt.” Replied the blue tiger who had at least three pairs of wings and six or seven tails entirely under-utilized, uselessly tangled and providing no useful heat whatsoever.

       “Möchtest du eine Decke und einen Kuss auf die Nase…?”

      “Um, ja…?” replied the winged tiger, suddenly confused & realizing why a blanket and a boop on the nose would be unreasonable.  Except HexenChan could not bring a blanket if he tried, and Alex would be afraid of sneezing on him entirely if he got anywhere. NEAR his nose.

     “Have you considered proper mythic hygiene?  You are a mess, Alex”

      And sure enough, Alex was indeed a mess and shook his head.

     HexenChan, the Awesome continued,

“Let’s take a look at these wings…” Hmm.  The black ones got bigger, the falcony set is a little ruffled, and the distlefink feathers- ouch.  I think I see the issue.”

      “Which is?”

       “You got burnt again.”

        “How?”

        “How the helheim am I supposed to know that?!” snapped the squirrel, “I am going through a checklist.  We haven’t even gotten to the part where we determine the cultural origin of the dream”

        “How would we discern that?” Alex Inquired,

        “Did you outsmart, seduce, fight, play fiddle with, tongue-kiss or fence the Devil to the death or in a game of chess?”  The squirrel read.

        “Absolutely not.”

        “How did religious figures such as holy figures or controversial escalatological charactatures appear to you in the framework of the vision?”

          “Currently like a small Mufti squirrel dressed like an Amish powerline repair guy.”

        “That isn’t in the book.”

         “Then your book sucks.” replied the Tiger.

“We could write that,” suggested Gefn as a perfectly red and golden longhair, visiting from Centralia.

     “Well, true,” replied Rob.  “There isn’t much of the story left- let’s get this over with before the food dries out in the oven, eh?”
Rob Sighed-
          “Are you sehr gut, Alex?  Are you going to calm your fuzzy butt and realize not every time you are uncomfortable is a crisis, ja?”

           “Ja, Shaykh.” replied the  Alex Tiger who actively sought to rearrange his own wings properly.  He even got a boop on the nose.

   ….HexenChan patted Alex gently, at a distance, with an extendable metal antenna used for emergency radio communications only…

….usually.

     In the meantime, the Gryphon hoped Alex enjoyed getting to know his home as much as he enjoyed Alex’s cave.  He poured himself another cup of Constant Comment and curled up in the custom recliner with two purring cats and copious blankets and fell asleep more comfortably than he slept in years.   The end, It’s  SchnitzelZeit” concluded Rob.

      Most of the cats cheered; three suggested making a quilt for Alex- as another cat asked if Alex was even “Real.”

      This time, Gefn, Hunter, Graham, Norris, Fylgia, AND Rob sighed. The rest of the cats cared more about the Schnitzel.