The kettle began to whistle.
A leopard took shape in the steam.
The whistle broke halfway through a note. Something above the spout had opened its mouth.
Mr. Reed stopped reaching for the handle.
Two pale ears unfolded in the steam. A nose followed, then whiskers, then spots that arranged themselves across a broad cheek.
He looked at the kettle. He looked at the leopard.
“I haven’t even put the tea leaves in.”
Before Breakfast
The cream-coloured kettle stood on its little clay stove, warming the stone counter beneath it. Charcoal glowed behind the stove’s open mouth. Above the courtyard, dry leaves brushed together, and morning light caught the damp rim of an empty cup.
Mr. Reed had swept the counter, rinsed the cups, and brought out the tea tin. The tin carried a painted leopard, curled comfortably beneath a tree with both eyes shut.
He held it beside the rising steam.
“Is this your doing?”
The painted leopard remained asleep.
The other one opened its eyes.
Mr. Reed lowered the tin.
“Apparently not a very good likeness.”
A Difficult Customer
The steam leopard rose until its ears nearly reached the lowest branch. Its body thinned into curls above the spout, but the face remained, watching the counter.
Mr. Reed moved the empty cup aside.
The face drifted after it.
“That’s reserved for paying customers.”
A whisker unravelled over the rim. Nothing inside the cup changed except a little moisture gathering on the glaze.
He put the cup back.
“You can look.”
A breeze crossed the courtyard. The leopard stretched sideways, losing half an ear and most of its chin. Mr. Reed nearly laughed. Then the curls folded together again, and the missing ear returned slightly larger than before.
“That one’s ambitious.”
The kettle gave a low bubbling sound. He reached for the cloth he used around its hot handle, then hesitated.
The cup could wait a moment.
The Other Side
Mr. Reed turned the tea tin toward the wall.
For several breaths, nothing happened.
The leopard was still there.
He leaned closer to inspect it, staying on his side of the counter. One eyebrow lifted. Above the spout, one pale eye narrowed.
Mr. Reed straightened.
“Are you examining me?”
The face tilted. He found himself smoothing the front of his apron.
“Well. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
He set down the cloth and rested both hands on the counter. The leopard’s whiskers loosened in the warm air. For a little while, he stopped checking whether they matched anything on the tin.
Beyond the courtyard wall, a bicycle rattled past. The charcoal clicked softly as it settled.
Tea, Eventually
The kettle began to whistle again, thin and insistent.
“Yes, yes. You’re still a kettle.”
Mr. Reed lifted it with the folded cloth and poured the water into his cup. The leopard lengthened above the turning spout, its spots slipping into ribbons. By the time he set the kettle down, the last whisker had disappeared beneath the branch.
He added the tea leaves and watched them open in the water.
From the lane, a customer called, “Anything unusual this morning?”
Mr. Reed glanced at the tin, still facing the wall.
“The tea looks ordinary.”
“Good.”
He brought out another cup.
“I’m less certain about the water.”
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