I strain forward to catch more. There’s something here, but then she’s crying again. And one hand shows an angry red welt, where, I fear, I must have scratched her in my frenzy.
I have hurt this girl, this young woman. And all the evidence tells me that she may have saved my life. It was uncivil of me, and I am ashamed. She has sunk to the ground now and is sitting in the mud. The rain has let up, and her sobs are clearly audible over the rush of water. Behind me, I hear the current, the flood, and shiver at the memory of its crushing cold. I look up at my companion. She has wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and a faint smear of blood has been transferred, like warpaint under the pink thatch. She’s a child, for all her age, and shivering.
My own body heat has begun to return to normal, and so I drag myself close beside her. She sniffs and turns to me. Puts out one hand gingerly and waits. I lean in, the worn denim of her jeans soft over her skinny leg, and she wraps an arm around me. Shared warmth makes for mutual comfort and a rising tide of contentment begins to rumble through me. Who this girl is, I do not know. How I got here, I cannot yet answer. But as exhaustion takes me, and my eyes grow heavy, I am struck by the oddest of thoughts.
I have begun to purr.
I am a cat.
TWO
I wake with a start from a vicious dream. Three figures, their eyes cold, watching me as I sink. No more than that, not that I can recall, and I struggle to make sense of the scene before it fades; of the three figures – men, I am sure – who stand above me. They make no move to help, which does not surprise me. There’s malice in their eyes, and I know they are the reason I am sinking. The reason I am …
‘Hey, you want some?’
I am torn from my reverie by that voice. The girl is extending a dirty hand to me, holding out – can it be? – a chicken wing. The aroma reaches me even as I register what it is, and I realize I am starving. I have never smelled anything more enticing. More meaty. I grab the wing from her and, holding it still against the ground, tear at the flesh. It’s cold. A day old, I gather, and spotted with what tastes like coffee grounds, sour and dark. I do not care, and make quick work of the morsel, bones and all, growling as I eat. I am too hungry to be embarrassed and find myself licking my paws when I am done, as much to lap up every bit of savory fat as to clean my black fur.
‘Hungry, weren’t you?’
Famished, I want to say. Instead, I blink up at her. She’s still eating her piece: a breast that, unless I miss my guess, had already been bitten into before it was discarded. Something about the tearing of the skin. It doesn’t match her mouth, which has a slight overbite. This chicken was discarded. This girl, this child, must be as desperate as I to eat it, and yet she has shared her foraged meal. With me, a cat.
I want to thank her. To ask her name and how she came to be here, alone and hungry as I am. But the limitations of my species hold me back. I push my head against her, a purr once more rising deep within my chest, and catch the hint of a smile. She understands.
‘You’re welcome, Blackie.’ That’s not my name, but never mind. ‘We’re good luck for each other. Don’t you think?’
I blink up at her and wait. My silence, I know, will bring forth more of an answer than any question I could have formed. She looks around, a furrow forming between her shadowed eyes, and I take in the bank we are sheltered against: a half-formed cave up a small, steep slope from where the water now lies still and muddy. The rain must have stopped while I slept, protected by the overhang. She peers up, blinking as the sun grows brighter, and my curiosity is piqued. The ledge above us sparkles. Asphalt, drying in the sun. We have sheltered by a road, the cause of my near demise its drainage ditch.
With a leap, I make the ledge. I am warm and dry and have eaten enough, and I’m feeling my strength. But as I raise my head to explore further, hands grab me, pulling me down. It’s the girl, and so I sheathe my claws, waiting for an explanation.
‘Let me make sure they’re gone. OK?’
I flick my tail, annoyed. My senses are more acute than hers, I have no doubt. But since I have no way of asserting this, I simply stare. No, I do not want to meet my attackers again. Those three dead-eyed men. Although the idea that they would lie in wait seems illogical. I was clearly overpowered, overwhelmed by the raging water. Without this girl …