A Cat in the Dog Show

“You don’t belong here, rich boy,” the alley cat, a spotted Bengal, growled at me with his hackles raised.

He was right. A well-fed, black Bombay cat with sleek, healthy fur like mine didn’t belong in a warehouse by Usery Bay, where the strays played. But, I had been watching them on my nightly walks out past the backyard and down the hill from the Sunset Heights mansions, and I couldn’t help wanting to join their gang. Together, they went on wild adventures: they stole from the fishing boats, terrorized local pigeons, collected shiny baubles from trash cans, dodged defiantly through traffic, and ruled the abandoned storehouse. They were free. No, they were like kings!

“I apologize,” I said, hoping that manners would pacify them, “I wasn’t looking down on you, I just wanted to tag along. Please, just for a while, I could-”

“He reeks of human, Fen!” the second cat - a large tabby - crooned to the first from behind me as he brushed past my tail with a toothy grin.

It reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. I had the sudden, overwhelming desire to be back on the couch with my human girl, Mary. I longed to be swaddled in a blanket nest, in front of the glowing TV. “I’m really sorry, I really didn’t mean any offence, I shouldn’t have come here-”

“But you did,” their third and final member, a mangy stray missing half its fur, whispered. She didn’t smile, didn’t growl…and that was worse. Her raging, slitted irises burned into me from a shadowy corner.

“I honestly thought it looked like fun to-”

“To pretend to be one of us? To mock our lives?” She stalked forward. “Move, Randall.”

The tabby moved aside with the haste of fear. “S-sorry, Mirelle.”

Mirelle looked me up and down. “What a joke. You’re practically not even a real cat.”

“I- I am a cat!” I declared. It was my one act of defiance. I regretted it.

Her claws shot forward instantly, and we were a whirl of fur on the ground; me trying desperately to squirm and push her off with all four legs, while she sank sharp teeth into my ears and tore at my belly. When we finally ripped apart, she stood between me and the door, blocking my escape.

“Ow! Okay!” I cried. “I’m sorry, please just let me go! I'll never come back.”

Her eyes never wandered. “You’re not a real cat. Cats are proud, and fearless. Humans have worshipped and served cats since the dawn of time. No real cat would lick the boots of those disgusting legwalkers. You? You’re…domesticated," she said with disgust. "You're- you’re a dirty pet!”

My whiskers drooped in shame. Not at the word itself, but at her vehemence and hate. I’d never heard “pet” used as a curse, until now. Before, I would’ve been proud to be my owners’ pet. But now...

The other two cats saw my demeanor change and chimed in.

“Pet!” guffawed Randall.

“Pet, pet, petty pet!” sneered Fen.

And Mirelle’s unsmiling eyes narrowed further. “That’s right. Pet! And, clearly, this pet needs to be taught a lesson about the real world.”

I backed away, scared. She stalked forward. I ran. They gave chase.

I didn’t get far.

***

My humans found me on the back porch that evening, my left ear shredded to ribbons, my fur matted and torn. I was licking blood from cuts and mewling in pain with each lick.

Mary saw me first, through the glass of the sliding door. “Mum! I found Thomas! He's back!”

Footsteps rushed over. The bar was lifted, the door slid aside.

“Thomas!” Mary cried. “What happened?”

I looked up to see her, my human girl, with her loving, caring arms outstretched toward me, ready to scoop me up with all the love in the world. And then-

I bit her. I scratched at her soft, pudgy child's hands. And a guttural yowl tore from my throat, a sound I’d never made until that day.

It was the sound a real cat would make.

Mary screamed in pain and surprise, and tried to get away, but my claws snatched at her skin.

“Off of her!” Dad roared. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, ripped me off, and threw me back. “Get away from Mary!”

I landed on my feet, and hissed. Just like a real cat should.

Mom rushed in and cradled Mary, checking each of her hands. “Oh my goodness! Show me your hands, show me your hands! It’s going to be okay, dear, it’s going to be okay.”

Dad’s eyes never left me. “Stay back, I’m watching you!”

Mom glanced over, horrified. “Is that really Thomas, dear? Maybe it's another cat.”

“It's got Thomas’s collar, it's got the same fur, but…I can't be sure.”

Mom picked Mary up. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s go inside.”

“No!” Mary cried, reaching toward me. “It’s him! It’s Thomas, I know it's him! He’s just hurt and scared! Let me help him!”

Mom turned toward me for just a moment, as if to give me a chance. Dad followed suit and raised an eyebrow, waiting to see what I'd do.

At that moment, I wanted to cry and run to them. I wanted to let Butler Anders wash me in the big sink. I wanted to let Dad towel me off, get a treat from Mom, and allow Mary to brush my fur back to normal. I wanted that almost more than anything in the world. But…

That’s not what real cats do.

Instead, I turned away, aloof and proud.

“Fine,” Dad said. “Leave him. This is where he wants to be."

***

Mirelle looked at me with amusement as I stood a safe distance from her, Fen, and Randall, who were all lying on top of a dumpster under a streetlamp. “Join us, now? Just because you left your humans? Like we care about that, you idiot! You know nothing about being a real stray. It’ll be years before the shameful human stench leaves you. If you even live that long. But I bet you’ll be run over before then, captured by a butcher, eat poison, or get mauled by a dog.” She stood. “So leave, before we teach you another lesson.”

***

I wandered the streets for two days. I didn’t eat; the food in the garbage smelled rancid, and the poor pigeons looked so silly I couldn’t bring myself to hunt them. The sailors at the dock spotted my poor attempts at sneaking toward their fish and shooed me away with a string of curses. At night, I slept on high tree branches and sheer rooftops, afraid that if I remained too close to the ground, a dog would jump up and snatch me down.

Only once did I go back to the mansion and try pawing at the back door. I sat there for three hours, without any response. I thought about waiting until someone saw me, but the more I pawed, the more I feared what they’d do if I were found. Throw me out again? Put me down? Call me a bad cat and yell at me? Say they all hated me now?

Terrified at the thought, I fled.

And on the second night, something amazing happened. As I was walking past a video store in the rain, I looked up and saw, on the TVs, an advertisement for something called the Eastchapel Dog Show. Pooches and poodles, dobermans and dachshunds all strutted on a stage. They ran obstacle courses with poles, tunnels, and see-saws. They stood on pedestals while judges checked their well-brushed teeth and stroked their soft, shimmering fur. An audience cheered, calling them good boys and girls.

And, most importantly, their owners stood proudly nearby.

A title card showed that the show would hold open sign-ups tomorrow at a bookstore called the Book Crook, located on Main and Juniper. I barely managed to read it before the advertisement ended.

A stared ahead without seeing, lost in a daze.

Tomorrow. Book Crook. Main and Juniper.

I had a plan in my head and a fire in my heart. I knew: no matter what happened, I’d find my way to the Book Crook and enter the competition. And then, I’d win. If I did that, my humans would hear about it somehow. I knew word traveled fast among humans. And, so...

Soon enough, I’d make up for what I did. Soon enough, I'd show them I'd realized my mistake. Soon enough, they would forgive me and accept me back as their pet, and they’d be my humans once again.

Tomorrow. Book Crook. Main and Juniper!