Memoirs of a Feral Cat

14 “Bastet, Bastet,” I screamed, and everything turned black. My eyes fluttered, and a deep throbbing ache stamped out any remaining drowsiness. My back end and belly parts felt tender and raw. Two-legger paws seized me again, plunking me back in the darkened container. It opened in the familiar garden where I first saw that apple-eating squirrel. I leaped out and ran in spite of my pain. “Sheba, Sheba,” I heard. No easy-to-get fish was worth this. Back at my own haunt, I tended to my poor belly. What had those two-leggers done to me? Aching, raw, my insides felt scraped out. I had decided to die there and then. Well, I didn’t die but woke up hungry and a need to hunt, which was difficult with a sore stomach. I could go back to that same house. After all, I reasoned, it wasn’t the young two-legger that had cut into my underside. As I climbed down the fence into the garden, the door opened and the little two-legger greeted me with a “Sheba.” Checking side-to-side I entered the house and approached its paw, full with an offering. I devoured the food and cleaned it of every morsel. My stomach assured me that I had made the right decision. Not wanting to linger, I turned back to leave when an enticing whiff reached out to me. Curiosity beat out common sense. The scent lured me toward a place high off the ground. In spite of a sore stomach, I leaped with ease to the square-shaped packet. Odd , I thought. Usually the food is thrown down to me. Why was it covered? A single rip through the flimsy casing revealed feline paradise. Red, raw, juicy meat crying out, “Eat me. Eat me.” Oh, the taste, the ecstasy, the freshness, the joy of rubbing my face in it. “Sheba!” A couple of large two-leggers glowered at me. The bigger one advanced with a body oozing hostility. Good-bye, beautiful meat . I flew to the garden door, but it was closed, forcing me to take refuge under a couch. The big two-legger made a