N erthol looked at his work and was pleased. His great mountains pierced the arc of blue and white above before sweeping down to the valley floor. Here, he had sprinkled the verdant meadows with cornflowers, cowslips, poppies and corncockles. He had threaded small streams through the grassland until they met the brackish water of the salt marshes, where they were finally swallowed by the wide sea.
On that first perfect day, swallows cut the clean air like a knife and on the mountaintop, a keen-eyed eagle watched the scurrying, creeping, slithering creatures below.  He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Now, I will create the King of Beasts. He will be a creature to be both feared and admired.’
He reached high above and seized a handful of the night air, then caught the tail of a scudding cloud. From the rippling stream, he took a ladle of water as it raced past, and from beneath his feet, some good brown earth. He placed all of these in a great crucible and mixed and stirred until a shapeless lump of clay lay in the bottom of the bowl. His hands kneaded and moulded the clod, working deftly until he had fashioned his greatest creation: The Cat.
Its spine coiled and twisted like a snake and its haunches were so strong that it could leap six times its length. Its cushioned pads, clothed in velvet, concealed sheathed spikes as sharp as the talons of any hawk. Its ears were so powerful that it could capture the heartbeat of the smallest mouse. Its eyes could pierce the darkest night and search the deepest shadows. It could taste the air and catch the scent of friend and foe four miles away.
Nerthol stood and admired his creation: he was so pleased with it, that he made another… and another… and another, until all of his clay had been used except for one small ball at the bottom of the bowl. With the greatest of care, he made a small cat, equally as perfect as its larger cousins.
His first cat, he painted with stripes of orange, black and white, so that this fearsome creature could conceal itself in the jungle. He took another and gave it a tawny coat, the colour of the parched grass of the open plains, the thick brush and the dry, thorn forest. He named it the King of Beasts and placed a mane like a crown upon its head. Next, he selected the cat with the longest legs and knew that it would be the fastest animal on Earth. He gave it spots so that it was invisible in the grey-hued grasses and the dappled sunlight of the forest.
At last, he reached his smallest cat - just as perfect as the others - but due to its small size, he handled it gently. He gave it every gift of its larger brothers: it could run as fast as the scudding clouds or the rippling stream; it could hunt in the jet-black night and it dwelt close to the Earth. He painted its soft pelt with all the colours in his palette. His heart was filled with tenderness when he looked at the smallest cat but he knew that, because of its size, it would find it difficult to survive harsh winters and dry summers. He thought for a moment and then spoke to the cat. He told it that it could live with Man, and share his food and warmth, but unlike the dog, it would never be his servant.
The small cat looked at Nerthol and said, ‘You have given me many gifts, but how will I let Man know my needs? What will be my voice?’
Great Nerthol thought for a moment and said, ‘Your cousins, the lion and the tiger have a great roar which strikes fear into the hearts of any creature that hears their mighty voices, but they cannot purr. I will give you the gift of that special voice so that when a man hears it,  he will be soothed and healed. Your mew will sound like the cry of a human baby and will bring to mind the melancholy of what has come and gone. But your purr will calm and comfort him.’
The small cat turned twice, curled up by Man’s fire, and purred.  He knew that he had been given the greatest gift of all, for in this world, it is better to be loved than feared.