Memoirs of a Feral Cat

6 enough. One by one, each of my kitties died, one painful day after the next, until there were none. I licked their tiny bodies as much and as furiously as I could, but they grew colder and colder. Finally, I wrapped my legs around them and closed my eyes, mewing my mother’s lullaby. “Dream, sweetly of stars. Sway, softly in clouds, And though your thoughts may be far, you’ll always hear my meows.” The quiet little house became unbearable. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I dug a hole in each corner, and carried my kittens, one by one, to a corner and buried them. Next, the anger came. Where was that suave, debonair tom? He should have helped me hunt for food. Instead, he abandoned us. Now, the kittens were gone and he was still out there singing to the moon. If our paths ever crossed again, I would make sure to share the pain that he had caused. It was his fault that they had died. He would meow a different song. Hunger prodded me, reminding me that I was still alive and needed to eat. I left the park and roamed about looking for the best pickings. The homes with large gardens became good hunting grounds. Squirrels and birds followed the vegetables and fruit, and I followed them. The hills near the new houses had lots of mice. The food was plentiful within the tall grass and bushes and beneath the dirt, but I had to take care. Other hunters strayed into this area and viewed me as dinner. Big birds circled and plunged, swooping down between the blades on their prey. You never would see them coming till they fastened their claws to your back. The howling coyotes watched and waited silently and patiently before chasing down their dinner, also fast and strong. My renewed love of exploring, poking and prodding led me to a great hiding place, a hole under prickly bushes, within those patchy, brown hills. Although green and lush, the hidden thorns of those plants unsheathed themselves like sharp claws that could slice the skin off a poor animal’s back. Most hunters avoided those bushes, but not me. I was small enough to squeeze in. A little prick here or there didn’t bother me. My secret spot was deep and widened into a comfy area that could fit two or three of me.