by Sarah Woodard

 

Blood stained the cement floor. There was nowhere for me to walk without dipping my paws into the gooey mess. I needed to get out of there, I needed to go through that little door and be outside away from the fear, from the blood, from this mess.

 

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I entered the door with caution. This was new. There was never one here before, I’m usually stuck making noise until she comes to let me in. This one was harder to use than the other one. And it didn’t lead to the outside world. But it did lead to sleep, warm covers, and a lovely spot for me to sharpen my claws. There we go, I was in. That was much more effort than I wanted I should probably go sleep it off. Wait until she gets home from school. My daily routine consisted of sleep, food, and sleep some more. Every once and a while I enjoyed going outside to lie in the garden. There were some really delicious spiders. Sometimes there were other bugs as well. I loved the flyers. They were always the most fun to catch. The thrill of spotting one, keeping an eye on it for quite a while, slowly beginning to arch my back bend my legs crouch down low. All the while keeping on eye on that amazing treat. Just when it would think it was safe I’d pounce and attempt to secure it safe in my claw. Of course the success of this hunt was rare. In a way that made the few there were even more special.

            Lying on the bed I realized that I had not been outside in a day or so. That was much too long. So I grudgingly lifted my body up from my ball of comfort and leaped off of the bed. That door again. I wonder when she’d get home so I wouldn’t have to go through it. Every time I did it seemed to snap right back into place as soon as I got through it. It worried me, what if my tail never made it back in time? That rug was excellent for sharpening my claws, so I stopped for a few moments to get some sharpening done. Then slowly made my way through that awful door.

I had made it; the cat had landed right into the hallway. This was a very special place; this was where my food and water was kept at all times. It was rarely empty which would be a good reason for that huge amount of fat that hung from the middle of my belly. Although I liked to think that the fat was from all my successful hunting. Wrong! Every time my bowl was empty all I would have to do was make that noise, “meeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwwwww’ over and over again, eventually it would get refilled. Apparently some cats called that being spoiled, but I called it being lucky. Lucky to have that girl who always gave into my noise. In that hallway there were three options, one to go up the stairs to the door that was always closed. This is because evil resided beyond the door, a dog by the name of Spencer. He moved into my home years after I had made it my own. He took it upon himself to take over the better half of the building and chase me around every time I stepped across the line. The worst part about the situation would be that I would be the one to get punished. I could not help myself but to pee every time I laid eyes on the beast. If she were holding me I would dig my long sharp claws into her raw innocent flesh out of fear. Blood would be drawn and I would pee all over the place. The second choice was for me to walk into a dark room in which fun and adventure lay ahead. I would love to creep in through the building, lie in the dirt, and crawl under the large table. But that lovely table was blocked off. So my third option was to go through another door. The easy door, the door that lead me to the outside world. To the garden, the bugs, other cats, birds. You name it it was there. That sounded like the most welcoming so it was my decision most of the time.

I was on the bed taking another nap when I heard her upstairs. Yes finally. This was the time when I would venture to the top of the stairs lurking behind the safety of the door and made my noise until she remembered to come and give me more food. It usually took her a little bit of time; I don’t think her hearing was quite as good as mine was so I couldn’t blame her for taking so long. She always said things to me that I learned at a very young age meant she was attempting to communicate with me. “Baby” or “Isa”. The second one she used to often I became accustomed to walking towards her every time I heard her utter that noise. EESA. Who knows what it meant, I knew it meant she wanted to brush her fingers through my silky fur so I was fine with whatever it was.

She usually came right into bed with me and would pet me for hours. The one problem with that situation was her machine. This white hard thing that would lie on her lap every time she lay down. It sometimes made noise sometimes didn’t. It made a lot of light all the time, and one time I looked into the light and saw a little black bug. It kept moving around so I tried to catch it, but she got mad at me and shoed me away. I learned my lesson to not try and catch that bug. It made her mad at me.

The sun went to sleep pretty early that night. We had been lying in bed for hours already but I got restless. I wanted to go outside to the night and hunt. I never hunted large creatures such as birds, or mice. I had too much fat on my body to be able to catch up to those creatures so I stuck to the bugs. There were some lovely tasting ones that only came out at night.

I walked over her and leaped off of the bed. I decided I would for once not bother her with letting me out of the room. Mostly because I was getting really good at the hard door and wanted to try it again. I went through the two doors and entered the night world. This time was the time for us. All the creatures would leave their homes at night to go meet with each other, to hunt, to gossip. It was a time where we didn’t have to worry too much about the two leggers.

We did however have to worry about the raccoons. They were nasty little creatures always trying to eat my food, drink my water, and hurt my friends. That is how it started. They began to come into my home every night. They would upset the balance. They would bring the dog downstairs, and leave me trapped in the room with the bed. Fur aroused claws protruding fear rushing through my body. Two enemies on the other side of the wall just waiting for me to intervene so they could attack me too!

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOM” she kept screaming. Her screeching pierced my ears with pain. I didn’t know what to do. “MOOOOOM!!!”. Beads of water feel down her face, I had never seen this form of behavior from her. Was she going to be ok? I needed her to feed me, to love me, and to keep me company. The dog was still barking right outside the door and the raccoon was hissing. Suddenly She got up from her bed and walked to the door. She slowly began to open it. This behavior was not acceptable. I could not handle that door being open, I could barley keep myself from dying from shock.

She looked at me for a moment and walked through the archway closing the door behind her. I could tell that everything was going to be ok.

 

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The noise was not stopping, there were at least three humans in the hallway now making all sorts of noises. I heard a sudden scream and everything went quiet for just a moment. Thudding of footsteps going up the stairs came next. This was a good sign, they were leaving us be. That was the way we liked it and that is how we lived. I could heard the dog climing the stair case as well. The raccoon must have left at last. Never again would I ever let one of those creatures roam my home, eat my food, or drink my water. I was sure that she would be outside waiting for me so as my fur went back to its normal place and my claws slowly retreated I leaped to the floor and headed towards that difficult to use door. She would make me use it, I was sure of that so I didn’t bother annoying her with my noises.

I went through the door and saw it. The blood, all over the cement floor, there was no hope in navigating around it I had to walk through it. But the part that bothered me the most was that she wasn’t waiting for me. She was nowhere to be seen or smelled. The dead raccoon lay right next to my door, my escape. The stench of its mauled body filled my nostrils. The dog must have killed it. I was sure that I shared the same fate as the raccoon. I was sure the dog would one say do the same awful thing to me. I walked to my door, stepped over the dead body of the raccoon and left.

 

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I will always remember how to get back to her, back to my home. But I will never return. The fear that surrounded me when I lived there was too great. I have learned to hunt larger creatures, and to feed myself. Maybe one day I will find another human who treats me just as well as she once did.