Luna, our favorite cat, had one more dream.
Paris.
She had heard about it many times. People always said Paris was beautiful. They said the food was amazing.
They said the Eiffel Tower was something you had to see in real life.
Luna had been to London. She had visited New York.
She had just come back from Amsterdam, where she drank hot chocolate with her friend Milo.
But Paris was different. Paris was something Luna wanted to do alone.
Just her. And the city.
She packed her small bag. She put in her favourite book. She put in her camera. And she put in an extra scarf — a soft, cream-coloured one.
She was ready.
The train from Amsterdam to Paris took about three hours. Luna sat by the window. She watched the flat green fields go past. She watched small towns appear and disappear.
She drank a cup of tea and read her book.
When the train arrived at Gare du Nord station, Luna stepped onto the platform. The station was big and loud and busy.
People were walking fast in every direction.
Luna stood still for a moment.
She took a breath.
Then she smiled.
The first thing Luna did was find a bakery.
She had one goal. Croissants.
She walked down a narrow street near the station. The street smelled of warm bread and butter. Luna followed her nose. She always followed her nose.
She found a small bakery with a green door. Inside, there were pastries everywhere.
Croissants, pain au chocolat, tarts with fruit on top, little cakes with pink icing.
Luna ordered one croissant. Then she looked at the pain au chocolat. She ordered one of those too.
She sat outside at a small table. She took a bite of the croissant.
It was warm. It was buttery.
It was soft on the inside and crispy on the outside.
Luna closed her eyes.
“This,” she thought, “is perfect.”
After breakfast, Luna walked.
She walked along the river Seine. She looked at the old bridges.
She watched the boats move slowly on the water. She stopped at a bookstall and looked at old postcards.
And then she saw it.
The Eiffel Tower.
It was bigger than she expected. Much bigger. It rose up into the grey sky, tall and strong and elegant.
Luna walked towards it slowly. She wanted to enjoy every step.
She stood at the bottom and looked up.
The metal structure went up and up and up. She felt very small. But in a good way.
She bought a ticket and took the lift to the second floor. The wind was cold up there. She held her cream scarf tightly.
From up high, she could see the whole city. The river. The rooftops. The little streets going in every direction.
Luna stayed there for a long time. She didn’t take too many photos. She just looked.
She wanted to remember this with her eyes, not just her camera.
In the evening, Luna found a small restaurant.
She ordered French onion soup. Then a little salad. Then — of course — one more pastry for dessert.
She sat alone at her table. But she didn’t feel lonely. Not at all.
She felt free.
She thought about London. She thought about New York. She thought about Amsterdam and Milo and the hot chocolate.
Every city had given her something. Something new. Something she couldn’t find at home.
Paris had given her something too.
Quiet. Beauty. And the best croissant she had ever eaten.
Luna walked back to her small hotel. The streets were quieter now. The lights reflected on the wet pavement.
Somewhere nearby, someone was playing music.
Luna looked up at the sky.
She couldn’t see many stars above the city. But she didn’t mind.
Paris was its own kind of light.
She went inside, took off her scarf, and got into bed.
She was asleep before the clock struck ten.
The End.
Goodnight.