Tiger

It is Sunday morning, and my human is missing.

It takes me a while to be certain of this. Of course, I do think it’s odd for Maggie not to be sleeping in, like she normally does on Sundays, but it’s not as though we never break routine like this. Maggie’s young, for a human, and it’s natural for her to be spontaneous every now and then.

As for myself, I don’t care for spontaneity. I’ve lived with Maggie for about six years, and I’ll admit that in that time I’ve grown rather lethargic. Maggie’s primary name for me is Tiger, but she’s also taken to calling me Lazybones, Snoozeball, and Cuddlebug. I’m not exactly the adventurous, rat–catching tom that I was in my youth, before Maggie found me in the alley behind her apartment building.

I try to lean on those rat–catching instincts now, letting my jaw hang in the air as I drink in whatever smells I can while I’m looking for Maggie. There’s something different in the air today. It’s more still than usual. I hop up onto the windowsill, my bell jingling lightly, and look outside to see that the street is completely empty. I sniff more and jerk my head back in disgust. There’s something foul and thick in the atmosphere. Something stale and grimy—death. It’s as if the world itself died, leaving only this rancid stench behind.

Something’s definitely happened to Maggie.

The window is open a bit, but there’s a netted screen between myself and the outside world. Luckily, it’s been a few weeks since Maggie remembered to trim my claws. I reach out and start tearing at the netting until there’s a big enough hole to push myself through. Maggie certainly won’t be happy about it, but I’m sure she’ll understand given the current circumstances. I land gracefully on the sidewalk below.

The smell out here is even worse. My nose scrunched in disdain, I pad carefully down the street, looking this way and that, always alert to anyone who might jump out and attack me. The thing is, I don’t think there’s anyone out here to attack me. I don’t smell any fresh human smells. There are, however, plenty of strong scent markings left behind by the feral creatures who live out here. Some pet dogs have left their scents here and there, too—I suppose they can’t help themselves, even if they are soft indoor animals.

I don’t bother leaving anything behind. I’m more than satisfied with my home life, and I feel no need to mark the outside world. I’m just out here to find Maggie, and that’s all. We’ll be safe and cozy inside soon enough.

Who are you?

I stop as a scrawny black cat slinks out from around the corner. Her ears are pulled back, and her eyes are narrowed into slits. I crouch down, drawing my own ears back. I don’t want any trouble, I tell her.

The stray hisses. You don’t belong out here. Her eyes fall to my bell, and she spits viciously. Soft little pet.

My tail swishes warningly back and forth, the soft fur brushing against the concrete. Yes, I am a pet. My person’s gone missing.

Everyone’s gone missing!

Everyone? I straighten up. What do you mean?

The stray hisses and jumps back when I change my posture. Her tail whips back and forth menacingly. Exactly what I say, the stray replies. The humans are all gone. We’re taking over.

Taking over? Did we—I shake my head. Did you strays do something to them?

The stray growls in disbelief. Us, do something! No! We’re just taking advantage of the sudden vacancy. Moving into the empty buildings, taking food.

What about the dogs?

Dogs are stupid. They’re waiting for their humans to come back. You must be stupid, too, if you’re looking for your human.

How do you know they’re really gone?

The stray’s posture softens a bit. Not out of any warm feelings, but I’d imagine out of boredom. She’s slowly realizing that I’m not a threat—or that I’m not worth the trouble. Either way, I’ll take it. Others say they saw what happened.

Can you take me to them? I blink, not too slowly, but hopefully she’ll see I mean no harm.

The stray’s ears twitch, but they stay back. She lowers her belly to the ground, her paws lying in front. Her tail swishes, but not quite as aggressively. Maybe. She squints, but doesn’t blink. Do you have food in your house?

I sit down and wrap my tail around my paws. Yes, I reply. If you take me to someone with answers, I’ll let you eat as much of Maggie’s food as you want.

The stray scoffs and gets to her feet. She brushes past me, flicking her tail in my face. Come on, then.

I turn and follow the stray down the street. She glances over her shoulder to make sure I’m following. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but it’s a bit of a hassle trying to keep up with her. She turns back ahead and rounds a corner. I follow.

What’s a ‘Maggie?’ The stray asks.

That’s my human’s name, I reply.

Ugh, I forgot you have those. Did she give you one?

Tiger.

After a pause, the stray continues, Just one? I heard humans give cats lots of names. She didn’t call you anything else?

My face gets hot. I get the feeling she’d make fun of the nicknames Maggie gave me. No, I say. Just Tiger.

The stray snorts. Presumptuous name.

So much for not getting made fun of. What about you? I ask.

We don’t have names, the stray says.

Maybe I can give you one.

The stray stops, turns around, and hisses in my face. I’m not your pet.

My ears turn back. Sorry.

The stray huffs as she turns back ahead. Stupid pet.

Eventually we get to a tall, tall, tall building made of red bricks. There’s a fire escape with the ladder hanging down; the bottom rung is hanging about five feet in the air. The stray leaps up and gets onto the ladder with ease, then looks down at me.

I swish my tail back and forth, looking up at the ladder uneasily. I’m not a bad jumper by any means, but this is a pretty tall order, and I’m not the most physically active housecat.

The stray narrows her eyes. It’s not that far, she says.

I know! I snap at her. I crouch down, measuring the distance I have to jump. My rear end wriggles, and I leap. My bell jingles as I latch onto the bottom rung of the ladder.

The stray huffs. That was ridiculous.

I got on, didn’t I?

I don’t mean your jump, I’m talking about that funny noise.

I glance down. My bell?

If that’s what you call it. You’ll have to get rid of it if you want to survive out here.

But how else will Maggie find me?

The stray doesn’t answer. She climbs up the fire escape, and I’m forced to follow her without another word. We reach the top floor, where the stray disappears through a jagged hole in the window. I slip through, and we both land on a dusty hardwood floor.

I’ll fetch them. The stray trots into the other room. I stand still and tall, trying to square my shoulders to look bigger.

My guide returns with a small group of other strays—a tiny gray, a flea–bitten tabby, and a large, muscular gray tom with one eye. The socket where his other eye should be looks infected. He sees me and sits, his eyes narrowed into slits.

So, you’ve been left behind, the tom says.

No, I just lost my—

That wasn’t a question, the tabby speaks up, her tail flicking. We’ve all been left behind. Wherever those humans went, they didn’t think to bring their own companions. Selfish.

Do you know what happened? I ask.

The tom blinks. Yes, I saw it, he admits. He lowers himself to a comfortable lying–down position. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone outside so late, but right when I was catching the most perfect, juiciest mouse, all of the humans came out of their houses and started walking in the same direction. It was terrifying. None of them said a word. They all seemed to know exactly where they were going. It was as if they all had the same mind. It looked like they were going downtown. I saw a light coming from that place, and it looked as though they had become like moths, following this light. I didn’t care to see any more, though. If the humans all want to vanish into some bright light, who am I to stop them?

I narrow my eyes. How could I have slept through all of this? Surely Maggie would have woken me up if she was going outside to follow this light, I mused.

Maybe you’re just that lazy and stupid, suggests the gray stray.

I huff out an annoyed breath, then turn back to the one–eyed tom. So you don’t know if they’re actually gone, I pointed out. They just went downtown, towards this light. They could still be there.

Unlikely. They would have returned by now. Besides, I know you smell death in the air as much as I do. Your human is gone.

A low, soft growl rumbles in my chest. You can’t know that. Has nobody bothered to go downtown themselves and look for the humans?

The one–eyed tom growls back at me, getting to his feet. And why would we care whether the humans are alive or dead? They’ve never helped us. They’ll take one of us into their homes and feed them and spoil them rotten, while leaving the rest of us out for dead. If they’re really gone, they deserve it.

I ignore the tom’s hurtful words and get to my feet. I’m going, I announce. I turn to leave.

Wait. I only just hear the word before the tom has pounced on me. I scream and writhe, trying to kick the bigger cat off of me, but he’s too strong. I feel my breath caught and see that his teeth are gnashed around my collar, and he’s tugging hard. I lash out at him, swiping wildly, but the clasp on my collar snaps and we break apart. The fur on the back of my neck stands, and I arch my back, hissing.

What the hell!

I was helping you, the tom insists, turning his head to the torn collar lying several feet away. Trust me, you’ll want to be more discreet if you’re going downtown.

My ears are laid back, and my belly is close to the floor. Maybe he’s right, but there was no need to attack me the way he did. I snort and turn to go, the breeze on my neck unnatural and odd as I hop through the hole in the window.

Hey, wait a second! I hear as I climb down the fire escape. The black stray is following me.

You don’t have to come, I say as we both land on the street. Whatever I find downtown, it probably won’t be pleasant.

My entire life has been unpleasant, the stray replies. Besides, you promised me food. After you realize Maggie’s not coming back, I can raid her kitchen. She falls in line beside me, her tail high and friendly.

And you’re not worried, traveling alone with just a soft little pet like me for protection?

The stray tilts her head teasingly. On the contrary, I figured you’d need protection, and I’m offering my services.

I scoff. I could beat you in a fight just by sitting on you, I argue.

You’d have to pin me down first, the stray replies. I’m too fast to be pinned down. Besides, I grew up on the streets.

So did I.

That doesn’t mean years as a pet hasn’t made you soft.

True, but I can still take care of myself.

Oh please, I saw the way you ‘took care of yourself’ back there; he could have killed you if he wanted to.

After a moment, I relent. Fine, you can come. But I get to give you a name.

I told you, I’m not your pet.

Not at all, but I have to call you something. How about Shadow?

No.

Midnight?

No.

Luna

No. What’s with these names?

Sorry, those are just the kind of names I always hear humans giving to cats that look like you. What kind of things do you like? Maybe there’s a name there.

The stray looks ahead, her eyes narrow. I like fish, she tells me. There used to be a little old lady in this neighborhood who would feed me these fried fish sticks. They were delicious, but I think she died or something a while ago. I miss those fish sticks.

Okay then, I’ll call you Fish.

The stray shakes her head. That’s a stupid name.

No, I think it suits you.

The stray scoffs. Okay, fine. I guess you can call me Fish. But don’t go calling me that in front of others; I don’t want anyone to think I’m some soft pet.

I look at Fish—how skinny she is, how rough her fur is, how sharp her claws are. I don’t think anyone is going to think that, I tell her.

Good.

We walk in silence for a while. The entire day passes, and we weave between buildings and rush across streets, even though there are no cars on the road. Sometimes Fish asks me a question, like how did I get to be so fat or where do I relieve myself if I don’t go outside, and the answers seem to shock her. The idea of being looked after so thoroughly by a human doesn’t sound appealing at all to her. She insists that she hates humans.

Then why are you helping me find them? I point out. I know, I know, you want Maggie’s food, but maybe there’s a part of you hoping to find your own person?

Not at all. Fish shakes her head. Tiger, you have to come to terms with the fact that we’re not going to find any humans downtown. Whatever light they were going towards, it took them away or killed them or something, and you have to make peace with that.

I clench my jaw. You don’t know that for certain, I say. But neither do I, I suppose. Neither of us knows for sure what we’re going to find when we get there.

And what are you going to do if I’m right? Fish asks me.

I think about that for a moment. Hmm. If you’re right, and we don’t find any humans, then I guess the only thing left to do is keep my promise and let you raid Maggie’s kitchen.

Oh, good.

We trot side–by–side down the streets towards downtown, me looking forward to seeing Maggie again, and Fish looking forward to her feast.