Memoirs of a Feral Cat

3 the scene bleating and fussing and herding the little ones. They all walked off in pairs or larger groups, leaving behind the empty cages to bob from the hanging chains. The two-leggers around here behaved like bees. During the day, they would come to life buzzing around on their big feet or zooming off in noisy, fast, wheeled carriers that dominated the streets and often made it impossible to cross over. When the sun set, they closed themselves up in their version of a hive or flower. The chaos of the day melted away into a night as quiet and as empty as a hollowed-out burrow on a hillside. The slight, cooling breeze from earlier picked up. Leaves flapped about, brushing my back and tickling my ears. The cages dangling off the metal structure banged against each other, ringing through the air. I lifted my chin, fascinated with the dancing objects, the wind forcing my eyes to half close. I took a deep breath, ready to exhale into a relaxed state, when my nostrils flared at a pungent smell, knocking my eyes wide open. “Good evening, little molly. Would you like some company?” I whirled around. A huge cat with a gorgeous halo of fur fluttering around his head stared down at me, deep down. The clattering noise played in the background as I took in all that black and white fur. “Rat got your tongue?” he asked. I swallowed. “You’re so tall,” and then I grimaced. Of course he’s tall, you idiot. He purred, and I swore those copper eyes of his twinkled. He puffed out his chest. “I am a big cat. Do you want to hear me roar?” “Not really,” I squeaked. “You’re not scared of little old me, are you?” “Of course not.” I knew fear. This wasn’t it. My breath came out in short gasps. The wind rushed through me, and the banging structures filled my ears. Bug-eyed, I tried to take it all in, but my body carried on without me. My front legs lowered, claws gripping at the ground while my back