Scamper, A Cat

The moon was full and its light gave a silvery patina to everything it touched. The coyote was hungry. As it approached a large bush of tangled blackberry vines it saw something gleaming whitely in the moonlight just the other side of the blackberry brambles. It stopped and stood very still, then dropped into a half crouch and very slowly advanced on the bush keeping its eyes glued to the white patch glimmering in the moonlight. Slowly, very slowly it crept forward until it had a clear view through the blackberry branches. There, just the other side of the bush, was a cat. It was a brown and black striped tabby with a white chest and four white legs. The cat was intent on prey of its own, a mouse rustling in the long grasses just a few feet away. Suddenly the cat pounced and in the next instant the coyote pounced as well, grabbing the cat by the nape of its neck. The coyote gave the cat a quick, sharp shake and the cat's body went suddenly limp. Carrying its trophy the coyote headed across the feed lot to its den, the cat's body swaying slightly in its jaws.

My earliest memories are not good ones. They are mostly of sounds. I hear a dog snarling and snapping, and hear my mother spitting and yowling, while beside me my siblings are making frightened mewing sounds. Then there is nothing. But the sounds stay with me.

The next thing I remember is being in a cage in a place with bright lights and dogs barking. To this day I detest the sound of a dog barking. Why do dogs have to be so noisy? I was in a place called a pet shop and apart from the dogs what I remember is that I was alone, that as I grew the cage became too small for me, and that I hated the smell of the place.

Because I had been so badly frightened as a very small kitten I was not very outgoing. Mostly I slept. I liked it best at night when the shop was closed and the lights were turned down. That was the happiest part of my day.

My lacklustre personality was not an asset. People came into the shop, often with their children, looking for a pet. They would walk right by my cage. The pet shop owner positioned my cage close to the front so people would see me in hopes that someone would want me. They didn't. Children sometimes tried to pull my fur or my tail through the bars of the cage and I would hiss at them and try to scratch their hands with my claws, which were getting sharper. This of course wouldn't do so the owner moved my cage to the back which suited me just fine.

My legs grew longer and I outgrew the cute, kitten phase. One night at closing time the owner passed by my cage, then stopped, came back and looked closely at me. "I don't think you're going to sell," she said. "I think you're headed for the pound kiddo."

I didn't know what the 'pound' was but her tone was not encouraging.

Two days later a woman came into the shop and asked if there were any kittens. The owner shook her head, then said, "But we have a very cute young male with tabby markings. Let me show you."

She led the woman to the back of the store and they stopped in front of my cage. I had been sleeping, but when they stopped in front of me I raised my head and looked at the woman. She was older, but not old if you know what I mean.

"He's got lovely markings on his face," she said. The pet shop owner sensing a sale was quick to agree.

"He's been wormed and treated for ear mites and he'll make a lovely pet," she said trying to be enthusiastic without overselling.

"How old is he?" the woman asked.

"About seven months."

"What's his story?"

I could see that the shop owner was uncomfortable with this question and I was curious as to what she'd tell the woman.

"Well," she began slowly, "it seems a dog killed his mother and ate his litter mates."

"My God. How awful," the woman said and I could tell she really did think it was awful.

Nobody said anything for several seconds and I fully expected that to be the end of it. But it wasn't.

"May I hold him?" the woman asked.

"He's a little skittish, but let's see," the pet shop owner said opening the door to my cage.

To this day I don't know why I didn't spit and try to scratch the woman as she reached out to pick me up. But I didn't. I was scared though and began to tremble all over.