There used to be a house somewhere. The house was neither too tall, nor too short. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t wide and it wasn’t narrow either. It had an entrance door just big enough. From the front, there were three windows on the first floor and one in the attic. It was yellow, like the rays of the sun and had a roof red as ripe strawberries. On the right side he had a balcony where the sun shone almost all day, which was very, very important. Behind the house was a huge garden with tall, green, lush grass. A white picket fence led from the house to the left and right. Beautifully fragrant flowers of all possible colors grew along it. Behind the garden stretched a forest full of tall pines with spreading crowns. Between the garden and the forest ran a stream of crystal clear water, just deep enough to drink. And just wide enough to easily jump over. In front of the house, around the garden and the forest, there was a road, narrow but not too much, a sandy path with a lot of beautiful stones of different sizes and different colors. If you tried to imagine the house, you would think that it is completely ordinary, like many other houses. Well, maybe except for the yellow color. But this house was no ordinary house. This house was a cat house.

Because this house wasn’t just any ordinary house, it wasn’t just any ordinary world either. He was somewhere among all the worlds that a girl’s mind can only dream of, invent or know in its travels and wanderings. And so it happened that the cats met animals that we humans can’t no longer meet and experienced adventures that we could hardly have experienced. But at the same time, it seemed that their time was passing the same as ours. That they were connected to our world and were not far from living with us, humans. I would say, that it was due to the fact, that these cats gradually came into our home, into our lives and into our hearts, just a cat hair away, before they went on their first trip abroad, thank to a still very small girl, not only of his forest, but also of the usual weekdays.

At the beginning of all the stories, eight cats lived in it, led by the oldest of them, Freya. Freya was a brave, agile, fast cat. A great warrior and protector. It would be hard to describe what she actually looked like. Neither black, nor white, nor brown. A little bit of each color. So that she can hide well in the autumn leaves, in white snow - if she laid on her back - and in brown dirt. She wasn’t just green, so everyone noticed her in the grass. Her eyes were yellow, glowing in the dark. She could frighten any intruder with just her look. She was very, very strict. She could punish anyone who was naughty with a whip. She could chase them around the house, or scold by hissing and sizzles, like cats do. She was always serious and commanded others with a firm hand. But she was kind at heart. Just wanted others to live healthy and happy lives.