Aberdeen’s air hummed with purrs and promise. The majestic Cowdray Hall stone lion crouched on his pedestal, ready to jump but frozen like a feline future in ice. A poem in granite, the silent stone beat of his heart whispered in the wind, heard only by the seagulls above.

Scuplted as a war memorial in 1925, the wisdom of a century glistened in the lion’s still granite eyes. As the festival of street art called Nuart simmered in the summer streets, the lion stared silently on a city stitched with poetic paint. Rain ran down his face like tears, a hidden song in his eyes struggling to break free.

Night descended like a blanket from heaven, cloaking the city in mystery. The lion blinked, as impossible ignited behind his eyes. Then slowly he rose, sniffed the air and leapt effortlessly from his plinth. He walked regally along Union Terrace. Drunken revellers pointed and smartphones flashed, recording a reality in freefall.

The lion entered Union Terrace Gardens, the lighting above sparkling on his granite back. He found the leopard statue, and touched his head gently to its forehead. Silver light shot in to the sky like a shooting star in reverse.

A perfect image of the two statues kissing hit social media like a cannonball the next day, however was quickly decried as deepfake footage. The lion, back on his plinth, stared silently ahead, secrets like granite gems in his heart.

Several weeks later, the Aberdeen football club won a home match at Pittodrie Stadium. At midnight, a stone lion slowly walked round the stadium, then crouched still as frozen snow while again drunken revellers happily snapped photographs. A social media storm rained the next day, a torrent of footage and a heavy rain debate on whether or not the images were real.

The lion became a legend. After every match won by Aberdeen, he was there at midnight at the stadium. And every time a cruise ship docked at Aberdeen for the day, a lion statue would be waiting at the port, an Aberdeen hello that defied history and flirted with reason.

Known as the Secret Statue of Aberdeen, he gained his own Instagram account. Aberdeen’s tourist trade exploded like a supernova. The lion statue became one of the most famous monuments in the world.

The next summer, a Nuart festival yet again painted hues of hope across the city. The lion rested in the sun, an invisible smile behind his stone eyes. At night, he wondered the city. Art danced with adventure, as a portrait of impossible crossed the streets. The lion headed to Duthie Park. Once there, he circled the granite statue of the greek goddess Hygeia, placing his forehead on each of the recumbent lions at its foot.

Slowly and one by one the four tiny lions began to move. Together, the feline fivesome slid silently through the park, then to the River Dee beyond. Magic melted like mute meows in the air, a roar in a night that did not hear under a full moon that did not care.

However the war memorial lion cared very much, for his city … and for the future of all felines. A vision of forest teased his brain, as a wildcat called telepathically for help.

In the morning, the lion was gone. His plinth was empty.

A social media storm hit the world, with thundering shock and lightning lament. #comebacklion went viral.

The lion did not return.

However, after several days a new statue appeared at dawn in his place. A Highland wildcat.

The people of Aberdeen flocked to see the new city attraction, disbelief and delight dancing hand in hand. The wildcat cat hovered on its haunches and stared ahead with still stone eyes.

Beautiful and bewitching, this statue now became the number one tourist attraction of Aberdeen. And come the tourists did, in their thousands.

Wildcats were suddenly the feline fashion of the day. The critically endangered felines became the top celebrity charity trend, gifts to the Highland wildlife park breeding programme flowing in freefall.

Then one evening, another group of drunken revellers witnessed the stone wildcat walking confidently down Union Street. She walked through the leafy suburb of Ferryhill, and joined the lion clan in Duthie Park. Together they frolicked on the grass, free as wild felines and wise as the stone they were made of.

More and more tourists flocked to Aberdeen like birds of photo prey. International interest in the Scottish wildcat roared like a lion on the hunt. Aberdeen had birthed another wonder of the world.

Miles away under a soft moon, a stone lion stood silently at the top of a mountain, surveying the world like an ancient guardian. Seen from a corner of your eye and then gone, as his legend spread he became known as the Wildcat Warrior. Always there, near the kittens in the forest, watching over them like a feline angel in stone armour. Glimpsed from afar, then gone as soon as you grew near. A ghost of the forest, a living myth that eluded the eyes, a shadow always behind you, seen and then gone like a memory of distant childhood, feathers of fancy in the wind.

The lion roared softly, staring at the moon like at a long-lost feline friend. Whispers of wildcat wisdom purred in his stone heart. Forests spread below like a garden of the gods. The lion roared again, however there was no man to hear. Only the magic of the night, and the stars above, silent witness to a miracle.

The lion slowly walked down the mountain. The wind whispered in the trees below, wildcat secrets in the air. Somewhere a cat meowed. Above, the moon shone like a stone lion on fire. Below, a lion shimmered in the moonlight, a legend on legs, a myth in granite. He entered the forest, and disappeared. All was still, the only sound leaves blowing in the wind, stray souls seeking their home.  Enchantment faded as the moon slipped behind a cloud.

In a city many miles away, a stone wildcat shone in the moonlight. Small stone lions played below her plinth. She purred a feline poem, knowing that the wisdom of wildcats would one day heal the world. The moon continued to glow brightly, lone witness to the wonders of the invisible world below.

Far away, a lion roared again, and then a silence like the sleep of millennia cloaked the land.