Memoirs of a Feral Cat

15 grab for me and jumped back with a cry holding its paw. I had to protect myself. It had forgotten its training. No one but the little one could touch me, and I was ready to revoke that privilege. The other two-legger joined the fray, and together they made enough noise to muffle a howling dog. Those upright beasts failed in all their attempts to grab me. I hissed and lashed out at any movement near or far. One of them opened the door. I scrambled out of there, not caring how close I came to any of them. On my way a push under my tail sent me flying faster than I had intended. I ran up, over the fence, and didn’t stop until I was far away and safe from any two-legger, big or small. It took an ugly incident like that to snap me back to my senses. A feral has to be careful. Go near a two-legger, they want to touch you. Let them touch you, they want to pick you up. Let them pick you up, they’ll cage you and cut into you. I never knew what they did to my belly, but, thank Bastet it wasn’t my brain. Easy food, fooling myself into trusting two- leggers. None of that is worth the price of freedom.