He was not expecting the emotions that flooded him when he again stood at the entrance to his cavern. Staring out at the boulder-strewn stillness, listening to the silence (save for the scurrying insects), smelling the musty air, he suddenly felt profoundly alone. Even if their souls were slowly being eaten by their cats, Zogrusz couldn’t help but feel jealous of the humans, always around others of their kind. The memory of his conversations with the old priest and the guard made him feel slightly better . . . and he supposed there was nothing stopping him from going out and mingling with the People again. Perhaps after another sleep, he would venture forth once more.

Zogrusz wandered around his cavern, claws clasped behind his back. Would he feel happier if he could make this space more . . . homely? He thought back to the shrine in the town and the statue inside it. The beauty of that carving had filled another emptiness inside himself that he hadn’t even known existed. Zogrusz crouched and picked up a rock the size of his hand. He pressed his claw into its surface and was pleased to see a furrow appear. Sticking his tongue from his mouth and concentrating hard he began to etch the same design he’d seen on the shrine’s statue. Time ceased to have meaning as he worked – it might have taken him just the night, or perhaps several days passed, but finally he was done and held up what he had made. His own face stared back at him from the rock, large pupilless eyes set above a nest of mouth tendrils, and he’d even added some details that he remembered the statue as lacking, such as the creases in his broad forehead and the subtle intimations of scales. A warmth filled him, and it took Zogrusz a few moments to put a name to this feeling.

Satisfaction.

He set down the carving on the floor of the cavern. No, he thought with a frown, that didn’t seem right, so he piled together a few loose rocks and perched it atop this little cairn. This was better, but still he felt like his creation deserved a better resting spot. Zogrusz remembered the flat piece of stone the statue had stood upon in the shrine. Surely he could make something similar. He searched the cavern until he found a good-sized boulder. He turned it over, tapping until he felt a spot that seemed weaker than the rest, then struck this imperfection a sharp blow with his fist. The rock broke apart into two pieces, one of which was about the size he had envisioned for what he wanted to make. He saw it in his mind’s eye clearly: a block of stone, with a small plinth on top where his carving would sit, and its sides decorated with designs of the moons and stars and planets he had visited in his journeys.

Zogrusz settled down beside the chunk of rock, his excitement rising. This first attempt would be crude, he knew, as he learned how to shape the stone with his claws and whatever else he could find to use as tools, but he felt confident that with enough effort he could make something wonderful. He laughed, surprising himself, the sound rebounding off the walls. Zogrusz sank one of his claws into the rock and worked it back and forth until he felt a crack open up inside, then struck it hard enough that the piece slid away cleanly, revealing what would become the first side of the block. He paused before he continued, once more looking about his cavern. With all the time he had, what other wonders could he create?

Zogrusz lost himself in his labors. After completing the altar upon which his first crude attempt at a carving would rest, he fashioned a great, rough-hewn chair from one of the chunks of stone scattered about the cavern, large enough that he could recline in it even in his true form. And since he thought he might also want to relax while wearing his man-disguise, he made another throne, but this time human-sized. His thoughts wandered as he carved this second chair, revisiting everything that had transpired since he had woken in his cavern, and Zogrusz decided he should also have somewhere for the cat Rhas to rest if he ever visited. So despite the difficulty of carving such a tiny piece with such massive hands, he carefully formed a low, flat divan that looked like something the cats he had seen sprawled in the sun in the town might enjoy. He hoped so, anyway . . . and he also hoped that one day Rhas would indeed lie here, and know that Zogrusz had been thinking of him. Or her – despite the deep voice, Zogrusz truly had no idea if Rhas was male or female, or even if cats had genders.

When he’d finished these first few furnishings for his cavern, Zogrusz collapsed into his mighty chair and wiped his dusty hand across his scaled brow. Gazing at what he’d done he felt another upwelling of satisfaction. He’d worked for quite some time – several days, at least – but he knew the vision in his head that had slowly been forming would take much longer to realize. He would fashion a tiered ziggurat in the center of the cavern, upon which he would place his throne, and beside this he’d smooth and level a space where he could sleep. Also, he’d set benches beside the pool of water so he might sit and watch the phosphorescent fish in its depths. And the walls . . . he imagined them covered with all manner of carvings, records of his voyage between the stars and his time here on this fascinating world. Such an effort would take many years, but this did not trouble him. He would work until he tired, and then sleep and work some more.

After all, he had all the time in the universe.