Diana the Huntress

I spend my nights in the big wild.

Last night, the air was cool, moon-bright, and calm. I found a corner, took a pee, and walked the bounds of my land before settling in the high lookout ahead of the far pines. I waited, eyes wide, nostrils flared. Petrichor, leaf mulch, cooked meat, hot fruit. The buzz of traffic, the metallic zizz of a moped, the clink of empty bottles.

Four cats, three of them female, a vixen and a dog tainted the air, faint enough to ignore. Far above me, a cluster of leaves shifted. My heartbeat accelerated and my ears turned, my gaze following them up into the dark. Probably wind, certainly too high up.

A tiny ‘tchk’ and a rustle of movement from the undergrowth at the foot of my lookout wall. More promising. Slowly, carefully, I adjusted my weight and peered over the edge, into the dark. The sound stopped. There was nothing and then, deep within, the glitter of an unseeing eye. Its scent made me unaccountably angry. I rose onto haunches as my rage grew. How dare that filthy creature be on my land? My eyes narrowed and my body twitched. That little snot is dead meat.

A leap, paws spread wide and I had it twitching in my grip, claws in hot skin. But I wasn’t ready for the kill. Not yet. Carefully, I withdrew my claws. The animal was too stupid to notice so I gave it a gentle pat. Hope glowed briefly in its dumb eyes, and it made a break for it. I gave it a couple of steps head start and then pounced again. Too easy. I turned it to face the wide lawn and released my grip once more. It made it further this time. For a moment I thought I might lose it before I landed a heavy paw on its stinking fur and raked its flanks with my sharp claws. Now the blood smelt stronger than the fear. Enough.

-0-

“Ah Jeez May-Ree that bloody cat has left another ‘present’ by the kitchen door.”

I woke with a buzz of satisfaction. They’re only humans, but I like it when they appreciate my work. You might think I’m unreasonable. It’s not true. I’m actually pretty enlightened - pretty woke. I mean I practically live in a zoo. There are two humans and any number of spiders, insects and the like. We even had a dog once. Had a mouse for a few days too, but I drew the line there - I’m not insane. Killed that little furball right where I found it. But in general, I believe everything has its purpose. The humans give me food and comfort, dogs are annoying but gullible enough to provide entertainment and I can practice my hunting on the tiny creatures. It’s only the big spiders I don’t much like. I’ll stalk them from a distance, but I won’t touch their creepy bodies or their straggling wiggly legs. And all those ghastly eyes. Yeuuch.

The female human is called May-ree. She is soft, eight and a half cats high and smells of flowers, ape sweat, vegetables and death. She calls me Di-an-ah or Lady-die.

The longer, harder human is called something like Garphh. He smells of burning, ape sweat, old fish and leather. He calls me Bloodycat when he is talking to May-ree.

They are both happy to feed me, give me scratches and let me lie in the warm place at the top of their legs when they sit down, but my relationship with the male is more complicated. When I get his attention, I have to respond or he gets bored and stops. He likes purrs – they reassure him he is doing a good job. His lack of self-confidence smells of weakness.

When they are awake, my humans spend most of the time staring through special windows. There is a big one in the room-with-the-squishy-furniture and they spend their evenings gazing at it. The rest of the time they have a tiny window that they carry around with them and they stare into that one instead.

Sometimes one of them sits in the eating-room during the day with a folded-up window perched on the table. There, they tap buttons or talk into it and get cross when I walk in front of it. Which is obviously irresistible.

When the humans go out into the big wild, they tend to go far away, beyond the scent line. Usually, they get into a much smaller house on wheels which growls as it carries them off. I’ve been in there. Didn’t like it – too many smells, too much jiggling about. Too much to see. Disorienting.

The male goes out for most of the day. Increasingly, he comes back late and smelling of hops and rotten fruit. On those days he is affectionate but clumsy and I tend to keep away. The female doesn’t leave the house much anymore. She used to go out all day too, and she’d spend a lot of time playing with me. She’s got a toy mouse on a string in a drawer in the feeding room. I used to keep her amused with it for hours. There’s also a magic torch that sends an evil little red dot flying around the room. I don’t know how it works but I bloody love that thing. That was back when she used to croon as she wandered about the house, softly, like a complicated purr.  She smelled different then too. Healthy.

In those times, they would spend their nights together in their sleeping-room, but now she tends to nap more like me, and usually spends the nights in a different room to him.

Her scent changed around a year ago and soon after, she went away for a couple of weeks. Garphh would be out too, coming home late, alone and sad. He wouldn’t eat, but that’s OK, he never shares his food. Instead, he’d sit in the dark and drink brown liquid that made him even sadder. The smell of it hurt my sinuses even from across the room. Male humans are very strange.

When she came home, the fur on her head was shorter and had big gaps. And there were lines around her eyes.

Now she eats a load of little pellets every morning, afternoon and again before bed. I don’t much fancy them, so I never ask to share. She’s thinner in the middle and she’s stopped painting her claws. They used to look like bright pebbles. Now they’re crinkled and broken.

Often now she sleeps during the daytime. As far as I know, she’s never produced a litter.

Neither of them laughs much anymore, but sometimes, when there’s just her and me in the room, the female will sit by the real window – the one that looks out into the big wild, and cry. On those days, I usually climb up onto her lap and stick around. She’s only an animal, but I’ve grown fond of her. Then I work especially hard to try to catch something I think she will like. I got a rat once. Enormous it was – almost half a cat. By the time I got it through my tiny door it was a bit bashed up, but you could still tell what it was. I thought she’d love it – plenty of meat even for a human. Instead she screamed like she was on heat and made the male come and take it away.  Well, in the end, they’re just animals aren’t they? It’s not realistic to expect them to show gratitude.

-0-

When I woke, it was mid-afternoon and the female, May-ree wasn’t in the eating-room. It’s unusual because she normally feeds around that time – usually two slabs of white sponge with something tasty in between - cheese or mushed up fish or bits of animal. I usually get her to share some. It’s all in the eye contact.

I stretched, gave myself a shake and went looking for her. She wasn’t in the room-with-the-squishy-furniture or the sleeping-room. Instead, I found her upstairs, lying on the floor of the washing-room.

I gave her a chirp, but she didn’t respond. I climbed up and onto her. Again, nothing. I decided to sit on her stomach, where it’s warm, and wait. Time passed and her tummy went cold.

Garpph didn’t come home when the light faded in the eating-room. I guess he was off eating rotten fruit and hops again. There was no sign of anything for me to eat. I strolled along the forbidden high walk where the humans fiddle with food but, aside from a few crumbs, there was nothing.  I can’t work cupboards although I’ve tried many times.

I dozed, hungry for a few hours. When I awoke, there was still no sign of Garphh, so I headed back up the stairs to ponder the cold, eight-and-a-half-cat long block of meat on the floor.