by Steve Vernon
He ran down the alley. Now which direction was Vine St.? To the right. He felt sure. It was two blocks past the park. But the park was dangerous. Too many dogs and kids. Even at this time of night.
Francis decided to go three blocks out of his way to avoid the park. He crossed an intersection and sped across the street. The bright lights of an SUV came out of nowhere. It roared towards him and he ran as fast as his paws would move. Still, he was almost blown over by the air dispersal of the SUV. It had gotten that close. He huddled next to a tree, breathing quickly and his heart pounding. He hid for several moments, waiting until the panic subsided.
When he could breathe normally again, he set off. Francis could only move a few yards at a time. Too many dogs or cats who were protecting their turf. Some of them had also been turned from the cause. They had contracted amnesia and become pets. Every cat had to be on guard against that.
He got to the end of the block and guessed there were two more blocks to go. A huge brown dog trotted into view. It was coming his direction. No chance the dog wouldn’t see him.
Francis looked around. There were no nearby cars to hide under. A tree was the only choice. Halfway across the yard. He streaked over the lawn and got up the tree just in time. He felt the dog’s breath on his tail, the stink of dry dog food nauseated him.
His claws scrabbled for a hold as he climbed higher. The dog barked and bounced, trying to reach the lowest branch. It was big enough to hold the dog if the monster reached it. Francis went higher, shaking. His hair stood on end making him look twice his size. His breath caught in his throat, his mouth dry and hissing at the insanely barking creature below.
A porch light came on. If the people inside saw him, his chance to go to George Ashton’s would be jeopardized.
The door opened. A man came out and yelled, “What’s going on?”
The dog fled.
Francis froze, listening to the beating of his heart, willing it to beat just a little quieter. He was dark enough and the porch light didn’t reach this far. If he could just stay hidden in the leaves, the man might go away.
The man came out into the yard and peered into the tree.
“What is it Dad?” asked a child from the door way.
“I don’t know. Can you bring me a flashlight?” he asked the child.
Oh no. He’d be seen. While the man turned away to talk to the child, Francis leapt from the tree and raced through the yard and across the street.
He heard the man yell out in surprise, but knew the man was too slow to catch him. It was better than staying in the tree.
Francis was limping. His paw hurt from the landing, but it wasn’t broken. Just bruised. The pain surged up through his leg, fogging his brain. He just wanted to crawl in somewhere safe and warm and stay there.
Instead he hid under a minivan until he could breathe slowly again. Then made his way two more blocks, running from car to car.
It was almost dawn when he found 1839 Vine Street. It was an old Victorian house, painted light blue with dark blue and purple trim, all of which was peeling. Lots of carved details. But this house was sort of run down. The lawn was mowed, but the shrubbery was scraggly and the flower beds filled with weeds. As he walked past he smelled the plant called Stinking Robert, the pungent scent filled his nostrils. Parked in the driveway was a car that hadn’t been moved in a while. Maybe weeks. Beneath it was completely dry and it was the only place in the driveway where no weeds grew.
Francis walked around the entire house. Lots of good hiding places for him. No food left out though. A fenced yard with the gates closed. He’d be safe from dogs here. No other cats around. There was some beat up patio furniture in the back. He decided the cushioned chair would be a good place to sleep. The sun was coming out, but he was exhausted. His little kitten body wasn’t used to going this long without sleep.
When Francis woke, the sun had been up for hours. His belly felt empty and growled. Birds and squirrels teased him from the trees. Dogs barked and kids yelled out on the street. In the yard next door he could hear someone mowing the lawn and smell the green scent of fresh cut grass.
He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from the night before. A bluejay sat in a nearby tree and screeched at him to leave. Some day Francis might be big enough to catch one. To catch any bird. But not yet. He just stared at the jay and finally it got bored and flew away.
He needed a plan. He needed to meet this George Ashton and get the man to adopt him. And he needed food.
He walked around the house again. There was an old pet door. And it moved inward when he pushed on it with his head. Francis stuck his head in and sniffed. He didn’t smell dog or another cat. Just human. Still, he didn’t go in.
He continued walking around the house. It would work better if he was invited in. He jumped up on the window sill and peered in through the glass. Nothing. He went to four different windows before he found the right one. The man was sitting at a desk in front of a computer. He sat facing the window, but continued to look at his computer screen. Francis waited patiently, staring at the man.
He was bearded and shaved bald. Wearing a faded T-shirt with a logo on it. Francis could have read the logo if hadn’t been too faded. The man drank something out of a mug, probably coffee. He’d been told humans liked coffee.
Finally, the man glanced up. Francis stood up, sidled against the window and meowed piteously.
The man saw him and ignored him.
Francis sat down and waited.
When the man looked at him again, he repeated it, meowing louder to be heard through the glass. Again, the man looked back down at his computer.
Francis jumped down and went to the window closest to the man. He sat, watching the man again. George was playing a game on his computer. And he was fascinated by it. He moved something on the screen, then sat and waited. Apparently thinking. And waited. Eventually, he glanced at the window nearest him and looked startled to see Francis.
Francis stood, sidled and meowed. The man wrinkled up his forehead and turned back to the screen. Francis did it three more times before the man yelled, “Go home,” and returned to his computer again, ignoring him.
Francis sat down.
This man was not going to be easy.
He could see over the fence at the neighbor’s yard. A small dog lived there. He watched as the dog got fed outside. The dog ate some and then the woman came to get the dog and took it away in a car.
Francis climbed over the fence and cautiously crept across their yard. He sniffed the food. It smelled awful, but he ate it anyway. He knew what it was to starve. The water was foul, but he lapped up a bit and then returned to his vigil in George’s window.
At least it was sunny.
Francis spent three days following George around the house, sitting in windows. Most of those days he ate dog food from next door and slept on the cushioned chair. George didn’t go anywhere, but spent his time doing other things on the computer. And eating. And sleeping. Sometimes he watched TV. On the third night, he was asleep when it began to rain.
Francis was finished with trying to be subtle.
He went in the cat door.
George was asleep in his bed. Francis toured the house, being very quiet. He stalked through the hallways, learning where all the hiding places were and making sure they were all empty. He listened intently to the whirr of the refrigerator and the sound of the furnace going on and off. George snored rhythmically.
Francis had never been so warm. And it was divine.
There was no food that smelled good. Although he did eat one of the orange crunchy things. It tasted awful. There were half empty food bowls strewn about. They smelled spoiled and rotten. He wasn’t that hungry, yet. And beverages, which didn’t appeal to him either. Francis didn’t dare jump up on the kitchen counters. They were stacked with dishes and he felt sure he’d knock them off and make noise. He jumped up on a counter in the bathroom and found fresh water from a dripping faucet.
/> Fresh water. What a delight! The taste filled him with joy. Had he ever tasted fresh water before? Nothing this good at least.
He finally settled down over a heat vent on the living room floor. And slept a deep, deep sleep. He woke to George making noise in the kitchen. Francis debated whether to let the man know he was there and decided not to. He slept more. He’d been lacking sleep for days. He woke when the day was late. The sun behind the clouds was setting. It was hours later and the man still had not seen him. but then again, there were piles of boxes and magazines and things everywhere.
Perhaps it was time to be more proactive.
Francis strolled into the man’s office. And meowed. He could hardly be heard over the loud music. The man didn’t respond.
He meowed again. Only to be drowned out by the awful music.
He meowed again and the man looked up at the windows. Francis rubbed against his pant’s leg and the man looked down and jumped.
“What the hell?”
Francis back up a bit, sat down and meowed quietly.
“Who are you?”
Francis meowed and sent a message to the man’s mind. ‘I’m a poor abandoned kitten. I’m hungry and need a home. This home. You want to keep me. I’m cute.’
The man just stared at him.
Francis walked over to the heat vent, shivering and plunked down on it, as if exhausted.
“Hmph,” said George and went back to his computer.
Francis pretended to sleep. He really wanted to jump up on George’s desk or play. But sleeping really was the best move for now. He didn’t want to threaten to change the man’s way of life.
Baby steps.
Later in the day, the man got up and went to the kitchen. Francis followed him, but took care to stay away from his big feet. One step with those things and he’d be crushed.
He mewed piteously, once, just once.
The tall man looked down at him.
“Where do you live, you skinny little thing?”
Francis mewed again. Get the hint. I need food.
The man walked closer, towering over him. Francis suppressed the urge to run, but he shook a little bit. The man scooped him up in one big hand. Francis took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. The man held him to his chest and Francis burrowed into the warmth of him and began to purr.
He’d been told purring worked wonders. The man began to stroke him and he purred louder. The petting made him feel more relaxed. His body stopped shaking and his purr became even louder.
“Quite the friendly little thing aren’t you? I wonder what you’d like to eat. I don’t have any milk here. What do kittens eat?”
He opened the refrigerator and stared in. Then he pulled out a plastic container and popped it open with one hand. The smell was divine.
Francis leaned towards it, meowing. His stomach rumbled for food.
“Think you might like some chicken? Okay.”
George put him down and tore off some pieces of roasted chicken breast and put them on a plate which he set on the floor. Francis devoured the food in no time. It tasted as good as it smelled.
“I guess you like chicken.” He put more chicken on the plate and Francis ate it. The third plate, Francis only ate half before he got too full.
He stepped away from the food, sat down and began to bathe himself. Not a good long bath, just a quick thank you I’m done eating bath.
The man chuckled and said, “Well, I’ll leave that there for you.” He continued doing whatever he was doing in the kitchen. Getting food for himself, most likely. Then he carried his plate of food back to the computer room.
Francis went out the cat door and out into the cold rain. He found a safe place in one of the flower beds, did his business and buried it. Then he ran back across the wet lawn, his feet muddy.
He hurried back inside and went into the computer room and sat on the window ledge, just above the heat vent. Then after watching the man eat and continue working at the computer, Francis decided his job was done for the morning. He stretched out warm, full and happy on the window ledge and napped.
He woke to find the room empty. The house was silent except for the furnace and the whirring refrigerator. Even the computer was turned off. He roamed the house looking for George, but couldn’t find him. He looked out windows, it was pouring down rain, surely he wasn’t outside. Where could he have gone? Francis jumped up in the window overlooking the driveway. The car wasn’t there. He hoped George would be all right.
He’d just found him. He didn’t want to lose him. Especially not before he had a chance to accomplish his mission.
Francis spent the next two hours pacing. He made a circuit of the entire house. He entered every room, jumped in every window and peered out. His tiny body was jittery with fear. His tail twitched. He finally stopped and sat in the window overlooking the driveway. Waiting.
Eventually, the blue car drove up and parked. George got out of it and pulled out white plastic bags. Then he hurried to the back door and Francis heard a clicking sound, the knob turned and the door opened.
Francis had rushed to the back door, but now moved back, out of the way.
He let out several worried and scolding meows.
George set the bags on the floor and said to him, “I’ve got to go get the rest. I’ll be back.”
Francis followed him out to the car, meowing and telling him how worried he’d been.
George pulled more bags out of the car, closed it and locked it. Then he took the bags inside the house and set them on the floor. Francis ran inside, George closed the door, shook off his wet coat and hung it on a hook.
He looked at Francis.
Francis meowed at him, then went over and rubbed against his wet pants’ legs.
“Are you hungry again?” asked George. He looked at the plate, which still had chicken on it. “I guess not. Did you miss me?”
Francis meowed.
George held out his arms and picked Francis up. He petted him and Francis purred loudly and nuzzled George’s chin.
“You’re such a cute little guy. I’m going to have to think of a name for you.”
Francis nuzzled him again. He liked the smell of the human. And the big man’s hands made him feel safe. It was a pleasant feeling. He’d had little safety in his few months of life.
After a few minutes, George said, “Hey, look what I got you.”
He put Francis down and began opening bags.
“First, there’s cat food, from the healthy pet food store, none of that crappy food for you.” George pulled out cans and cold, frozen packages and a bag. “And a couple of bowls, one for food, one for water. Here, I’ll fill it up now.”
George washed and filled the bowl, then set it on the floor. Francis went and drank, trying to be appreciative.
Then George pulled more things out of bags.
“And here’s a cat bed, we’ll have to decide where to put it. Probably in the computer room, since you seem to like to hang out there. I’ll put it close to the heat and the window. And look, here’s a few toys.”
George rolled a fuzzy ball across the floor and Francis chased it down, rolling end over end once he caught it. Then he held it between his front paws and began kicking it.
George laughed and Francis felt pleased. He’d been told that humans liked their kittens to be clowns. Everything was going according to plan.
“And most important,” said George. “I bought you a litter box. Just in case you don’t want to go outside.”
He pulled a large plastic thing out of a bag and set it on the floor in a corner of the nearly empty room just inside the back door. Then he poured something inside that smelled like wood and stepped away from it.
Francis went over to investigate. He stepped into the box and pawed at the sawdust pellets. He’d heard about litter boxes. Some cats liked them, others didn’t. He squatted and peed, just a drop or two. Mostly for show. Then he went through the motions of covering it up. It might be nice
not to have to go outside in the rain.
He jumped out and chased the ball again, listening to George laugh at his skidding on the slippery wooden floor, while the man put his food away in a cupboard and the refrigerator.
George opened a can and put some food in Francis’ new bowl and Francis ate a little. George took the cat bed into the computer room and Francis followed him. The man looked around, set the bed on the floor and began clearing off a small table. Then he pulled the table across the floor and set it over the heat vent and next to the window. He put the cat bed in the center of it and picked up Francis and set him in the bed.
He had never in his life felt anything so soft, except maybe his mom. Francis kneaded the bed with his front paws, luxuriating in the soft squishiness of it. Finally, he curled up and went to sleep. He barely noticed when George left, then returned with another plate of food and settled in at the computer.
When Francis woke, he strolled into the kitchen and drank some water. He ate a little more and stood in the kitchen bathing himself. He heard and then saw the flap on the cat door open. A head peered in. A cat’s head. It looked around, saw him and quietly meowed. It was one of the Leads, Anthony, a sleek black cat.
“Please come outside and talk,” he said.
He squeezed through the cat door and followed him around the side of the house. They pretended to watch birds in the bushes in case anyone was spying on them.
“How is it going?” he asked.
“Good, I guess. He bought me cat food, bowls, a cat box and a bed, so I guess he’s planning on me staying.”
“Good work.”
“I haven’t found the key yet. What does it look like?”
“It’s a card. A rectangular card about this size.” Anthony drew out the shape with his paws on the concrete driveway. “Only seven humans have them. It’s how they control the internet. We must have it.”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“He might not get it out of its hiding place until just before he leaves for California.”
“How will I steal it.”
“You might have to wait until he comes back. He’ll be more relaxed and maybe he’ll take time to unpack. He might even leave it lying around.”
