The Cat, The Letter, And the Tower.

Posel, the letter carrier embarks on an unexpected journey after chasing a mysterious cat.

May 25, 2025

I didn’t notice the cat at first.

Cream and apricot, with fur long and silky, it sat beside the mailbox at the top of Sundrop Lane every morning, waiting.

For context, Sundrop Lane was less a street and more a personal vendetta from the gods of elevation. The hill was preposterously steep.

During my first week as a letter carrier, I was too busy trying not to die. Every trip up that ridiculous incline was a just symphony of wheezing and curses. I could barely see through the sweat in my eyes, let alone notice a cat.

But once I could pedal to the top without losing a lung, I finally saw him properly: a fluffy little blob curled up like a chicken nugget. It looked at me like it kept a record of how long it took for me to notice, and he had laughed every time I had gone by completely unaware of his presence.

And when he showed up again the next day... and the next... and every day after that, I figured anything with that kind of dedication deserved a name.

“Your name is now Nugget,” I told him one morning while taking a snack break.

He meowed at me like we were already on a first-name basis. From then on, Nugget and I had an understanding. I’d scratch its ears, and he would judge me silently.

The other constant was the mail. If one could call it that. One letter. That’s it. Every single day. Always just one. One to deliver or one to pick up.

After a while, I started noticing something odd.

Nugget would wait. I’d give him a few pets. I’d put the letter in the box. I’d bike away. Then I’d hear it; the creak of the mailbox opening again. And when I turned to look? There went Nugget, sprinting off into the nearby grove, the letter clutched in his tiny mouth.

I began to have questions.

Most importantly, where was Nugget taking the letters?

As a mail carrier I’m not supposed to question the job. Just bike to the route, deliver the letters, and move on. Rain, snow, apocalypse, it didn’t matter.

But curiosity itched beneath my skin, I tried to resist. You know the saying “Curiosity killed the cat?” Yeah… There’s another part, “satisfaction brought it back.”

So that day I asked off of work, and hid behind the bushes so that I could follow Nugget to wherever he was taking the letter.

My manager was the one to deliver the letter to the hill.

I heard him before I saw him. It was the familiar chorus of wheezing echoing up from the other side of the hill. A smile curled on my lips.

“Hah! Suck it, Tod. Feel the wrath of the elevation gods,” I muttered, ducking behind the bush a little more with zero shame.

I’m not a fan of Tod.

He always claimed he was “taking the brunt of the workload as a manager” which translated to: “I stole the flattest, shortest, most boring route for myself so I can nap in the office like a sun fat house cat, waiting for you to do all of the work.”

Sure enough, his fat head crested the hill, bobbing back and forth. He looked like death, sweaty, and pale. And instead of dismounting like a normal person, he just flopped sideways off his bike straight onto the grass near the mailbox.

Poor Nugget shot three feet into the air in sheer terror, then landed, shook himself off, and resumed his post like nothing had happened.

Professionalism. I respected that.

The huffing and puffing went on for a solid thirty minutes. I counted.

“For the love, just put the damn letter in the box!” I hissed under my breath, crouched like some kind of hobgoblin in the underbrush.

Eventually and miraculously he did.

Finally the letter was in, and Tod left.

“AHHHhhhhhhhhhhh……” It was the last I heard of Tod as he tackled the downhill slope of the Sundrop Hill.

I snorted. “Heh.”

Then I turned to watch the real show.

Like clockwork, Nugget sprang into action, batting at the mailbox with those precise little toe beans. The rusty hinge let out its usual squeaky protest as he wedged the door open. Then he jumped up again and inside. Nugget scampered in with his hind legs scrambling to push his extra fluffy body inside.

A second later, he popped back out, letter in mouth, and trotted off down his mysterious route.

This was my moment to shine, all those wheezy, soul crushing climbs up Sundrop Lane were finally about to pay off.

I launched myself out of my hiding spot and tore after the cat.

But I didn’t have to run far.

Just a few steps ahead, Nugget had paused on top of a mossy tree stump, sitting there like some smug little garden statue. He fixed me with those unreadable, golden eyes and gave his tail a slow flick. The look he gave me was unmistakable.

“Well? Are you coming or not?”

Then, with zero urgency, he hopped down and trotted off again. This time at a leisurely pace, like he fully expected me to follow.

Nugget was playing with me.

This gave me pause, I couldn’t help but wonder if my curiosity was really going to get me killed or just make me really regret following this cat. However, I was pretty sure this cat was magical, I just had to prove it to myself.

So I followed.

I’ll admit it. I was actually enjoying the walk.

Wildflowers peppered the forest floor, blooming in the dappled sunlight that slipped between the leaves above. They swayed gently in the breeze, all pinks and blues, bending like little ballerinas dancing to the choir of birds overhead. It felt like I had stepped into a fairy tale.

When we reached a clearing, Nugget stopped right in the center. The space was nearly a perfect circle, the tall grass looked enchantingly perfect, as the cool afternoon breeze made waves of the blades.

“Mew,” he called, soft but deliberate. As if he was saying “Stay!”

I mean, I was already chasing a cat through the woods. Why not lean into the magic? Maybe he was delivering a secret letter. Maybe someone would appear to collect it. Or maybe I was just crazy.

Nothing happened.

No mysterious stranger. No hidden fairy door. Just silence.

The sun sank lower, stretching long fingers of light through the trees, clinging to the world before slipping away. I hadn’t even noticed how long I’d been wandering after him. A flush crept up my cheeks. This was starting to feel silly.

I lingered a moment longer, then turned to go.

And that’s when the sun rose.

From the wrong direction.

It rose on the opposite horizon, and it was rising unnaturally fast. The speed seemed to climb exponentially. Soon, it was dusk, and then it swept away again by another dawn.

Day and night began to tumble over each other, faster and faster, until stars and sun chased each other like two young children running in circles in a school yard. It continued on until it was just flashes of light.

“What… is… happening?” I slurred, my balance tipping as the world spun wildly. I staggered, blinking at the flashing sky.

Okay. Definitely not normal.

My mouth hung open as I watched. I couldn’t do anything else. Then the spinning sky stopped abruptly. Or maybe it hadn’t stopped at all. Maybe it was moving so fast now that it only looked frozen.

I held my breath as the world shimmered with uncanny beauty. The stars sat beside the subdued sun, too weak to outshine the balls of twinkling light. That’s when I noticed something else.

The trees were gone.

The clearing was no longer nestled in the woods. It now sat just steps from the sea.

Only… it didn’t look like any sea I’d ever known. It was crystal-clear, and almost dreamlike in its stillness. It didn’t plunge into darkness as oceans should. Instead, it was like glass, looking as if it was no deeper than ten or twenty feet. It seemed like the sea had forgotten how to be vast and moving.

“Mew!”

Nugget had given me a few precious moments to catch up with reality before continuing his journey, letter still clamped dutifully in his jaws. To my left, a small white boat waited patiently on the sand, with its oars placed neatly across its hull like a gift left just for me.

But Nugget didn’t so much as glance at it. He padded right past, determined and without hesitation, waded straight into the water.

I blinked. “Well… that was unexpected.” As if everything else that had just happened wasn’t as equally unexpected.

Nugget started swimming, but not like a cat and more like a fish moving side to side . His movements were smooth, and graceful. The longer the cat was under, the longer the cat looked more and more like a fish. Fur rippling into scales.

I blinked

Before my eyes, Nugget the cat had become a Koi fish.

“…Also unexpected,” I muttered, because what else was I supposed to say?

The cat was indeed magical, and that confirmation felt really good.

The cat, now koi, wirled through the water, leaping in an arc before diving again, like it was inviting me to follow.

I sighed. “Alright.” and once again, I gave in to my curiosity. I stepped into the little white boat, took hold of the oars, and rowed after Nugget the cat fish.

It didn’t take long to confirm what I’d guessed earlier: the water really was shallow, especially for an ocean. Beneath the surface, pops of color lit up underneath me. Corals, seagrass, patches of sunlight that danced like foil across the sandy floor. Other fish began to join Nugget, swimming beside him as if part of a parade.

I tilted my head. “Are you delivering letters too?” I asked one Koi, a sleek black fish with what looked a little like whiskers.

Eventually, something appeared in the distance. A tower. It jutted from the sea, its stone walls mostly underwater, except for the tall spire that broke the surface. Each side had four windows, and above every one, a clock. None of the times matched.

As I got closer, golden and amber fish spiraled around the base while water lilies and lily pads circled the tower like a halo. The air smelled sweet, heavy with a floral perfume.

I said nothing, it was all very confusing.

At the base of the tower, Nugget, my cat-fish guide, burst from the water. He landed on a lily pad, bounced like it was a trampoline, and sprang into the air. Mid-leap, his body shimmered. Scales rippled back into fur. He landed on a windowsill fully cat again.

“Glad you're back to normal Nugget, but I’m so confused.”

It looked like the cat grinned at me, like he wasn’t going to explain anything and leave me questioning at every turn.

Then he turned to boop a small button inside the window sill with his nose.

The clock above ticked backward until it read 12:30.

I leaned forward to peer through the window, expecting a room or maybe stairs. But instead… flowers. A whole field of them, rolling and vivid, and beyond that, a little white cottage tucked into the hills like something out of a storybook.

“Meow,” he said, firmly. It sounded suspiciously like “stay” again.

Then he disappeared inside and down the path to the cottage.

I waited.

Not long after, another fish launched itself onto a different sill. This one was black. As it landed, it too transformed into a cat.

It booped the button five times. The clock flipped to 3:00. That window turned dark, the interior glowing with moonlight. I leaned closer again, this time I saw an old-town cityscape beneath a starry sky. It was beautiful.

Nugget returned not long after, leaping gracefully back into the boat with a new letter clutched in his teeth. He dropped into the boat and gave me a look that clearly said, You know the way now. Let’s go home.

“Alright, cat,” I muttered, “None of this made any lick of sense.”

I felt unsatisfied, and I had more questions now.

Now, I had to know. It was that itch. I’ve had it since day one of going up that ridiculous hill. The one every letter carrier probably has felt at least once or twice.

The urge to open a letter.

Nugget looked at me, and I swear, he knew.

And with one casual flick of his paw, he pushed the letter toward me.

I picked it up.

And I broke the cardinal rule of letter carrying.

I opened it.

And it was addressed to me.