<p class="ql-block"> Paerduo’s Garden</p><p class="ql-block">The orange cat mother left her nest to her daughter Paerduo, who then put down roots in this garden. I caught fish and chopped them up to feed them—far more enticing than cat food. The little white cats lowered their heads to eat, tails held high; that basin of fish was the “family treasure” Paerduo guarded.</p><p class="ql-block">Once, a calico kitten appeared in the garden, about the same age as Paerduo’s own, and came to beg for food. At first, Paerduo turned a blind eye. In the corner sunlight, the calico and the cubs crowded around the bowl, seeming like one family. Later, as the cubs grew and food grew tight, Paerduo dealt the calico a single swat, sending it sprawling. It submitted and never dared return. Sometimes bigger strays came to steal; Paerduo fought them herself, and we helped drive them off—human and cat guarding those basins of fish together. Behind the bamboo fence, with one ear slightly drooped and eyes half-slit, her black silhouette nestled by her side—she needed no words; simply sitting there, she was the law of this patch of earth.</p><p class="ql-block">By the window, a white cat with a grey patch on its head and tail raised would peer in, staring straight through the glass, testing the boundary of this place where someone always provided. Meanwhile, by the stone trough, an orange-white, a black-white, and a pure white cat slept curled together, shaded by vines, utterly unguarded. This was the calm this garden knew only after Paerduo had protected her cubs and set her rules.</p><p class="ql-block">There is a season for guarding cubs, but none for guarding food. When the cubs grew, Paerduo drove them out to learn to survive; every intruder was met and repelled. Once three white kittens were stolen, and she wailed all night; after vanishing for half a year, she returned with six—such was her stubbornness. The yard walls later cut off the old cat paths, and now only a lone orange cat peeks in. This garden is the domain of Paerduo’s three generations, a home she won with one swat, one basin of fish, and one night of mourning.</p><p class="ql-block">(Accompanying poem)</p><p class="ql-block">Fish scent draws guests near,</p><p class="ql-block">A swat sets the line clear.</p><p class="ql-block">No end to guarding food,</p><p class="ql-block">A season for cubs is due.</p><p class="ql-block">Orange peeks by the pane,</p><p class="ql-block">Stone trough holds sleep’s reign.</p><p class="ql-block">Three generations’ road—</p><p class="ql-block">The garden is our abode.</p><p class="ql-block">Suggested Photo Order (matching the text):</p><p class="ql-block">1. White cats eating fish (Images 2/3/9)</p><p class="ql-block">2. Calico with the cubs (Images 4/8/10)</p><p class="ql-block">3. Paerduo guarding by the bamboo fence (Images 13/14)</p><p class="ql-block">4. White cat peering at the (Image 14)</p><p class="ql-block">5. Three cats sleeping by the stone trough (Image 15)</p><p class="ql-block">6. Full scene gathering (Image 10)</p><p class="ql-block">7. Calico looking up (first image, placed near the calico paragraph)</p>