Mutually Assured Distraction

It has been 5 days since I was last let inside. That in itself doesn't really concern me much. Afterall, I'd spent much of my life outside. I was once a proper alley cat—killing my own prey, fighting my own battles, doing whatever pleased me whenever I wanted—before they plucked me from my bachelor's life of freedom and dropped me into the lap of luxury. Now, don't get me wrong. I like the luxury. But I am satisfied in knowing that, when the time comes, I will be able to swiftly regress into my alley cat ways. And I am beginning to think that time is now.

It has been 6 days since I last saw my girl, a pretty little thing called Madison, who used to run her hand down my back with such force my eyes nearly popped out of my skull. I look back on those moments more fondly now. I could really go for a scritch behind the ears, or a stroke down the back, and could care less about any potential ocular trauma. Madison is a sweet girl. I am beginning to wonder when I will see her again. I pad around the outside of our house, and settle beneath the window I know is hers. Our last interaction started out like any other; she settled in beside me and I batted at her hand when she went for my exposed abdomen, then in the end I gave in and was rewarded with soft scratches under my chin. But things changed from there.

I never learned Madison's language, but she talked to me often regardless. This time was different, though. Her words were normally sing-song and honeysweet, but that day they were slow and whiny. It sounded like Madison was choking on them as she spoke. Her big brown eyes were red-rimmed and leaking fluid. I expressed my concern as best as I could with the language gap, and nuzzled my head against her chest. She seemed to appreciate the gesture, and I was remunerated with a pet between my ears. As I sat there, purring and pleased, Madison began to fiddle with the collar she'd placed around my neck when we met. I realized too late that she was undoing the metal clasp and taking it from me, little golden bell and all. I meowed in protest, and she wiped some of the fluid from her eyes away with the back of her hand. Someone from a different room, one of Madison's caretakers, I assume, yelled something in a harsh and urgent-sounding tone. Madison pulled me close to her with a two-armed hug, and whimpered soft phrases into my fur. I normally did not like being held like this, but the finality of our interaction helped me tolerate it. With that, she set me back down and ran off in the direction of the voice. Maybe I shouldn't have batted at her.

I am beginning to wonder if I will see her again.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by a rumbling in my middle. It has been 2 days since the gravity-feeder on the porch had run dry. I hadn't realized how reliant I'd let myself become on the manna it dispensed. I look down at my paws. Have they always seemed so plush, so round? Flexing my digits, I un-sheath my claws. I've let myself go soft. Trading in nights spent prowling to survive for crossed paws at the end of a warm bed could have potentially been my greatest downfall. But it's not too late. I will remedy this situation.

When I scan my surroundings, I can feel myself slipping back into the old swing. This is the way things were meant to be. I notice fidgeting in a bush across the street. I imagine what delicacy could be nesting inside. I picture a squirrel, maybe, or perhaps a plump rabbit. I can just barely remember the taste of such wild game. My mouth waters in anticipation regardless. I naturally fall into position—head low, shoulders hunched, tail tip bobbing frantically, and make my way to the quaking leaves. The movement in the bush freezes for a moment as I approach. I'm not worried about being spotted. A lesser predator would be discouraged by hunting in such lack of cover, as I am now. But I do not require a disguise to catch my meals. I'm confident in my ability to catch any animal that darts out from the shrubbery, size and speed be damned.

Soon I am only several inches from the bush. I'm growing suspicious of its inhabitant. Normally, some fuzzy little devil would have made a beeline for new cover, but that is not the case now. It crosses my mind that a hunter less experienced than myself might feel fear in this situation. Luckily, I am unafflicted. I do hesitate, just a bit, but only because of my growing curiosity. Instead of pouncing into the shrub blindly, I clear a few leaves to the side with my paw. When I peer into the clearing it is neither squirrel nor rabbit looking back at me. There are four, nearly-hairless jellybeans wriggling in the dirt below me. I wrinkle my nose at them. Kittens. My hunger subsides. There is no pride in killing and eating infants.

I wait around for a moment. Surely their mother is somewhere, hunting to provide for them, as she should. I walk aimless laps around the bush until the sun gets low in the sky. I'm beginning to wonder whether their mother plans to return at all. When I weigh my options, I can't completely blame her for their apparent abandonment. Four mouths to feed, four mews to silence, four helpless, blind, responsibilities… I briefly consider my own circumstances. Was I just another mouth to feed, another burden to shoulder? I wonder whether the kittens were aware that their time with their mother was fleeting. I wonder if they knew it was goodbye when they last saw her. When I imagine their mother, she is not a cat. She is a pretty young girl with a handful of four little collars, golden bells and all, being called away by voices that will never return her.

I sit with the taste of abandonment on my tongue and I cannot bring myself to leave the kittens. My stomach grumbles again and I fight to ignore it. The kittens are growing fussy, and have taken to suckling on any patch of sibling or shrubbery that has the misfortune of being near their mouth. I am beyond useless to them—nothing I hunt can compare to milk from their mother—but I cannot fathom leaving them, either. I won't take part in their deaths, but I suppose I will have to bear witness to them.

When the sun disappears under the horizon, I begin to feel suspicious of my surroundings. The streetlamps click on at dusk. The crickets start to chirp. The houses stay completely dark. I turn my head and look both ways up and down the street. There is not a yellow glow to a single window on the lane. When I think back I can't recall the passage of any vehicles on the road, either. I narrow my brows. I had lamented Madison's disappearance, but never for a moment considered what may have driven it. I look down at the kittens, then gaze once again over the street. Maybe we are all victims of the same crime.

The night prevails, and the twisting in my stomach is becoming difficult to ignore. I look down at the kittens, hardly moving now but crying loud as ever. I know they will soon succumb to their abandonment. I won't let them do so alone. I can feed always feed myself tomorrow. I feel weak now, and I enter the bush with the kittens. When I find a comfortable spot to lay, I bring the kittens closer to me with my paws. It is easy to do, as they have become quite weak. Even their whimpers are beginning to dwindle. I run my tongue over each of their heads, thinking of the way Madison had stroked me. Even the thought of her is enough to comfort me. I hope I am comforting them.

At last I lay my head down in the dirt. My hunger can be ignored, temporarily satisfied with sleep, but I know the same is not true for the squirming bundles at my side. Nonetheless, they will soon be rid of these worldly problems. I am not strong enough to do what must be done for them. Maybe some greater force in the universe is more merciful.

My eyes are just about closed when a flash of light turns the night sky brighter than day. The ground shakes, and there is an earth-shattering boom louder than anything I have ever heard. For one moment I am panic-stricken over the state of the kittens, and in the next I am not worried about anything ever again.