THAT FALL

The big beings had not returned since the haze of sunrise and the chirping of breakfast birds replaced the moonlight. Vrybe the cat, known here as Sam, remained curled on his mistress’ stomach waiting for her to awaken. This whole Angie business bored him, and he demanded to go home. No one here permitted hunting, although he had requested many times to be let out into the yard. The only one who understood him slept under him. The others were doling out canned tuna and water. His tolerance for their well-meaning offerings was waning.

He stood and arched his back, stretching. He exposed his claws and pressed them against his mistress’ stomach. She moaned and pushed at him. Not very nice. He had accommodated this game for months and it really was time to get back to his garden. Admittedly, his mistress deemed it her garden, but Sam was tolerant of her amusements. She knew he ruled that garden. The birds there feared him. The rodents, mice and moles cleared a path for him as he sauntered along. The other garden inhabitants understood his position.

Here and now, nothing was understood. The Big One would not speak with Sam. This was normal as The Big One did not care for Sam or Sam’s kind. The last time Sam had exchanged unpleasantries with The Big One was the morning his mistress had left. Sam insisted on being delivered to his mistress immediately. The Big One complied, depositing Sam at the door of Renya’s Earth living space. Sam liked to believe The Big One had obeyed, but The Big One was merely avoiding caring for Sam’s needs while the mistress was absent.

And Navin was too busy with whatever Navin was doing to even give Sam the most cursory scratch between the ears. The humans could not speak with Sam at all. Small minded creatures who could not appreciate the subtleties of cat language, only the human with the large, brown eyes had the potential to understand, but expressed little interest in Sam.

Sam cleaned his left paw, licking at the pad and nibbling off a piece of that tiresome litter they were making him use. How revolting the trip had been. Sam had only agreed to remain with his mistress with the proviso he would get plenty of fresh kill. The mice outside of that living space his mistress called Condo were acceptable. But his mistress had that whole episode and lay on the floor for hours. And then left him for days. He had to sustain himself on one roach, two flies and garbage scraps.

To add more fleas to the mix, Castania was ignoring him. When she collected him from that residence and delivered him to his mistress, she strongly indicated that freedom was imminent. But, no. Here he sat waiting for the game to be over and at the very least to be let out into the yard.

And his mistress would not stop playing the Angie game. Very tiresome. When she explained the Angie game, she had told Sam that it would be an amusing adventure. New prey. New gardens to explore. New smells and sights. But Sam had spent most of his time peering out the residence window knowing the large pine just outside would be an excellent cover. And that one Mockingbird would sit just outside the window and taunt Sam. Months of that, with promises they would go home soon.

He stared at his mistress’ face. The visage was not hers. The smell was not hers. She was in trapped in that meat body. Sam drew one claw and tapped it against the line of the body’s lower lip. His mistress did not stir within. Maybe it was an adventure, but Sam would not deem it amusing. Tiresome, boring, and a little scary. Where was her sparkle? He rubbed his forehead and nose on her chest and called out, Can we go home now? It was like she could not even hear him. Like she was… she was human. How revolting.