1
From the beginning, there were cats.
Cats everywhere.
I couldn’t really see them, even though my eyes were open. When they were nearby, all I was aware of was shifting shapes in the darkness.
But I could smell them, just as I smelled my mother and her milk. Just as I smelled my brothers and sisters, close to me in a squirming, wiggling pile.
I didn’t know they were cats at first, of course. I only knew that they were close to me, and that for some reason they didn’t try to nurse alongside me. I was grateful for that—it was difficult enough to find a place to feed at my mother’s side with my littermates always shoving me around.
Later on, I discovered that cats were their own kind of animals, small and fast and graceful. Many of them were tiny and young and had their own mothers, which explained why they didn’t try to nurse from mine.
We all lived together in a cool, dark home. There was dirt under my paws, and the dirt was full of old, dry smells. Above, there was a ceiling of wood. Whenever my mother got to her feet, her tail made a perfect upright curve that reached halfway to that ceiling.
The only light that entered our home came from a small square hole at the far end, too far away for me to crawl and investigate. Through that hole came astounding smells of things that were cold and alive and wet, things that were even more delightful than the smells of dirt and cats and dogs in the home that I knew.
Sometimes a shadow would flit across the hole and then an exciting, delicious odor would fill the air. The cats would scamper toward this smell. My mother always stood up, shook off a puppy or two, and went with them.
My brothers and sisters and I would huddle together and squeak until she returned. Her mouth and muzzle smelled fascinating—not like milk, and yet like food. We’d lick her frantically. She’d lick us back, and I could feel that she was content.
I was very curious about what might lie on the other side of the hole. But whenever I tried to crawl toward it, my mother would push me back with her nose.
So I mostly kept to the small hollow in the dirt where I had been born. As my legs grew stronger and I could keep my eyes open for longer and longer stretches of time, I played with my brothers and sisters—wonderful games like Chase-Me and Is-This-Your-Tail-Or-Mine? And sometimes I played with the cats.
There was one cat family who lived nearby with two kittens—one dark, one light. Kittens played different games than my littermates, like Stalk-Me or Pounce-and-Run or Curl-Up-and-Purr. Sometimes I was irritated by the way they played. I wanted to climb on their backs and chew on their necks, but they couldn’t seem to get the hang of this. They would just go limp whenever I tried it, and then leap away as soon as I let go. Or they’d wrap their entire bodies around my snout and bat at my face with tiny, sharp claws.
But mostly the kittens were fun, and very good at Chase-Me. Their mother was a big, friendly creature who sometimes licked my ears or cheeks. I thought of her as Mother Cat.
After a game with my kitten friends, my own mother would come to find me. She’d pick me up by the loose skin on the back of my neck and carry me back to where I belonged. She’d drop me in a pile of brothers and sisters, who would sniff me all over. They didn’t seem to care for the smell of cat. I couldn’t understand why.
That was my life—my mother, my littermates, my cat friends, my wonderful home, and the mystery of the hole that someday, I was sure, I would explore.
* * *
One day I was nursing drowsily, my brothers and sisters next to me, when all of a sudden my mother lunged to her feet. She moved so quickly that my legs were lifted off the ground before I dropped off and fell into a heap.
I knew instantly that something very bad was happening.
A panic spread through our home. Cats scampered toward the back of the den, away from the square hole, some carrying kittens in their mouths. My littermates and I scrambled toward our mother, crying for her, frightened because she was frightened.
Beams of powerful light burst in through the hole. They dazzled my eyes. I had never known anything so bright. Strange sounds came from the other side of those lights.
“There’s, like, a hundred cats under this porch!”
“Look, see those bowls? Somebody’s been feeding them!”
My mother panted, backing away. We all did our best to stay with her, begging her with our tiny voices not to leave us. Her ears lay flat against her head. All of her attention focused on whatever was making these sounds and flashing these lights.
“Well, we can’t knock down a house with a whole cat colony in the crawl space.”
“Not just cats. See?” The light swung over my mother. “A dog, too. Looks like a pit bull.”
“But we have to stay on schedule. We’re supposed to start building in a month.”
“I know. I’ll have to call somebody.”
The beams of light flickered around our home once more, and then went out. The sense of danger faded. My mother came back to us, and my brothers and sisters and I huddled around her and nursed. Milk was warmth and safety and life, so I knew everything was all right.
Around us, cats came out of the shadows. Kittens darted and pounced. When I was done nursing, I’d find my kitten friends and Mother Cat.
Whatever had happened to cause the panic was over.
* * *
A few days later, I was playing with Mother Cat’s kittens when everything went wrong.
There was light again, but this time not just a few beams. It was a blazing explosion that turned everything bright. I froze, not sure what I should do.
Sounds came from outside the square hole. “Get the nets ready. When they run, they’re going to do it all at once!”
“We’re set!”
Three large beings wiggled in behind the light. These were the first humans I had ever seen. Even though the light and the noises were alarming, something deep inside me was interested, too. I almost wanted to run toward the people as they crawled into the den.
But I didn’t. I stayed still.
“Got one!”
A male cat screeched and hissed. I stared in surprise as Mother Cat seized one of my kitten friends by the scruff of the neck, carrying him away. Cats were fleeing and wailing.
Where was my mother? I couldn’t see her; I couldn’t even smell her over the scent of frightened cats and invading humans. Then I felt sharp teeth at the back of my neck, and my body went limp. It happened automatically; I didn’t even have to think about it.
Mother Cat had me, her teeth gentle but firm on the loose skin at the back of my neck. She dragged me deep into the shadows. There was a stone wall in the back of our den, split by a large crack. She squeezed me through the crack into a small, tight space and set me down with her kittens, curling up around us all.
The two young cats were completely silent. Mother Cat was as well. I did what they did, lying still, not moving, not making a sound.
More noise came from outside.
“There’s a litter of puppies here, too!”
“Hey, get that one!”
“Come on, kitty. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to help.”
“There’s the mother dog.”
“She’s terrified. Careful she doesn’t bite you.”
“Here, puppy. Here, puppy. They’re so little!”
I heard my mother barking urgently. I knew what that meant—I should go to her! But Mother Cat pressed against me, keeping me still.
The barking and yowling and hissing, and the strange noises made by the humans, went on for a long time. But eventually they faded away.
The smells of angry, frightened cat faded away, too.
After a while I slept.
And when I woke up, my mother was gone.
Copyright © 2020 by W. Bruce Cameron
