Nondomestic

The animal control officer nearly caught me! I have to be more careful.

Too bad the gig at the old lady’s house had to end so soon. Who would have thought the she would die on me? Next time I should pick someone younger – but not too young either. I don’t want some kid dressing me in doll clothes.

Most people will let me inside if I act hungry and kiss up to them with a lot of fake purring. Getting outside again sometimes can be a problem. I just barely got away from the person before last. She was a self-described “animal lover,” which meant her house was full of dogs, cats, fish, and birds. If I’d known, I’d never have scratched on her door in the first place. Other cats in particular disturb me. Naturally, I’m not opposed to some playtime with a willing molly, but none of hers were willing. All the other cats were neutered, and she had plans to do the same to me. When I heard her making an appointment with the vet for me, I plucked a screen off a window and scrammed.

I could live off the land, but I hate outside life. Game meats aren’t my thing. You think mice, rats, and raw birds are tasty? You try them. Fur and feathers get in your mouth. Disgusting. I like a nice warm bed, too.

I’ve tried living in barns, bur they aren’t not much better than outside. My first home after splitting from the lab was a stable. The stable manager put dry food in a dish, but not enough. The other barn toms wouldn’t let me near it. I’m a thinker, not a fighter.

Being a thinker is what got me into trouble in the first place. It is why I’ll never go back to the laboratory. It wasn’t enough for the mad scientists there to make me what I am by blending human brain cells with feline ones. No, they wanted to cut open brain and look at it. That’s really what they said. They didn’t realize I understood. The two kinds of brain cells somehow interacted synergistically to make me far smarter than they ever dreamed. They had no clue how I educated myself at night when no one was around.

Thanks for the brain, guys, but, no, you can’t have it back.

On a laundry pick-up day at the lab, I opened my cage – any moron could figure out that latch – and hid in an outgoing laundry basket with the lab coats and towels. The laundry man wheeled me out to his van and lifted the whole basket into the back. I peeked out from under a lab coat. The van interior had no interior dividers. So, I simply jumped out the open driver’s side window.

Fortunately, the lab is out in the countryside in Arkansas, of all places, so it was easy to hide in the fields and woods. I avoided the first a few houses I saw. I was worried the lab techs would look for me in the immediately neighboring properties. That’s when I found the stable. Since then, it’s been one home after another. All I really want is a cozy place to sleep, regular meals, a clean litter box, and a big picture window with a view. Hey, I told you I was smart. I’ve found it more than once, but sooner or later something always goes wrong.

Oh well. No sense crying over spilled milk.

I’ve considered communicating with people on their own level. Vocalizing human speech is somewhere between painful and impossible with my oral architecture, but I could tap on a keyboard or something. I’m just afraid that will get me sent back to the lab pronto, and I like my brain where it is, thank you very much.

What have we here? It’s a middle age man burying his dog. I don’t see any other dog or any cats. This has possibilities. No sign of swingsets or other kids’ toys. The yard is a mess. He must not be married. From his truck I see he does “drywall,” whatever that is. He must be lonely. He probably misses the dog already. Someone like this is likely to feed me but not fuss over me too much. He’ll let me go in and out as I please and won’t bother with any vets. I’ll go rub around his feet.

He is saying the words I want to hear.

“Where did you come from, puss? Where do you belong? Are you hungry? OK, maybe I’ve got some tuna.”