Skinny isn't a compliment.

I climbed flightless stairs, trying to reach my destination.
At the top of the steps there was a feline.
She was the most majestic, maternal creature I had ever laid eyes upon.
Her fur begged you to feel it.
Her eyes warmed your toes and your soul and your heart.

"Hello," She meowed, her voice curling around like incense smoke, mysterious and intriguing.
"Hi," My eyes widened and my mouth murmured in awe.

"They call me," She purred sadly, "The Fat Cat."
She shifted her paws uncomfortably.
"But I am not fat," She said, "I am thin."

"You," I took an encouraging step forward, "Are beautiful."

Her ears perked up enthusicastically, "What is beautiful?"

"Beauty," I whispered, "Why, beauty is...it's special, it's untouchable, unreachable, beauty is the greatest compliment ever recieved, beauty is love in tangible form. Beauty is the eyes dessert, the ears most valuable image, the hearts most welcomed friend!"

"Beauty," She purred, "Beauty. Beauty. It is rather like being thin."

No. I thought to myself. Beauty and thinness are not alike at all. Beauty is round and robust, warm and inviting, inspirational and moving. Thinness is easily broken. Something thin may be beautiful, but not because of it's thinness, only because of the essence of that thin thing.

"Yes." I said gently to her, "Yes. Beauty is like being thin."

How would one explain beauty to such a cat?

--Julie