An Unlikely Pair

I grew up like any other domestic cat. I was served fresh water, food, and all the affection for which any animal on earth would beg. Mrs. Moore, an elderly woman who was in desperate need of a companion after the death of her husband, adopted me, and for seven years I lived under her protection. Six months ago, however, she suffered a stroke and with her death, I lost the only family I had. I was the only one there for her, too; she was dead for two days before her only son bothered to visit. After her funeral, it seemed the son was more concerned with his mother’s belongings than with the physical loss of her. It didn’t take long for him to settle in the house, selling everything valuable and abandoning the rest. The custom picture that hung on the living room wall and featured me and Mrs. Moore curled up jointly on the couch was my sole reminder of her, and when her son threw out the painting and replaced it with an ornamental antique shotgun and several hunting pictures, my lifelong home seemed alien and uncomfortable.

Each night, the son arrived in the late hours with a skewed walk and garbled expression, too impaired to worry about feeding me or to show me any sort of attention. I would cry at him, craving the tenderness and devotion that I took for granted since my friend’s death. I received shouts, empty glass bottles hurled in my direction, and drunken kicks that nearly caused the man to tumble onto the ground with each swing. My home, my haven, no longer felt safe, so one night when the son was asleep on the couch with beer stains splattered on his pullover and Cheeto remnants on his fingers, I ran. For two weeks I settled in alleys, crawlspaces, and empty boxes around the neighborhood. I would sleep during the day and find shelter and whatever scraps of food I could salvage during the night.

A stony breeze brushed against my dusty-black fur as I lay huddled next to a pile of stuffed trash bags and empty pizza boxes littered on the ground. The sun was nearly down, and the foot traffic of the humans was becoming bare. The lights from the neighborhood apartment windows grew dim. It was time. I tilted my head out from behind the trash bags and headed down the streets with the pale lamplight from the posts illuminating my path. The sidewalks were crisp against my paws, and a chill slithered deeper through my body with each step. I glued my eyes to the route ahead of me, yet still attentive to my peripheral surroundings.

Growling erupted from behind me. I turned, and two wide dogs were approaching me. The Doberman and German Shepherd barked raucously in unison and rocketed towards me, causing me to jump in the air from fear. I dashed through the neighborhood, weaving through alleys and corridors and scaling fire-escape ladders to out-maneuver them. As I continued racing from the beasts, sidewalks transformed into paved roads, paved roads turned into dirt trails and dirt trails into grass. My body propelled through a narrow opening in a wooden fence, but as my back legs kicked out, the fence broke open and I fell into the tall grass. There was no sound behind me. The dogs were gone. But the city was gone, too. All around me stood thick grass and open farmland, and only when I squinted could I make out a faint cityscape in the distance. A wave of panic whirled through my head and into my stomach. My home was now a remote memory. Mrs. Moore was gone, lost, forgotten, and now, so was I.

I bathed myself in the grass for several minutes, for my chase from the dogs left me panicked and unclean. As I stood back up to wander again, a dark figure rose noiselessly in the sky before me. Something was mesmerizing about the living thing, its broad wings sweeping through the air and its feathers caressing the wind. I followed the creature keenly, with my body low in the grass. The creature’s movement was elegant, yet irregular, its head darting back and forth as if it was searching for food. Then, in one nimble act, the creature hurtled towards the ground. My heart skipped, and I inched backward with the fear that it detected me, but as it darted down, it swung out its wings and grasped onto a rodent ahead of me. I peered through the blades of grass as the creature lifted back into the air with the rodent in its talons. The creature flew fifty feet in the air, released the rodent, and dove back down after a soft thud hit the ground. The rodent was dead.

The creature picked the dead rodent back up with its claws and went on flying north. With apprehension, I followed, despite the trepidation and better judgment occupying my mind. I needed to find food, water, and shelter, but I continued following the deadly bird. It flew for several miles, but at last, a broad barn came into view. The barn was red, but dressed in chipped paint, with dirt splattered against the lower parts of the exterior sides. The creature and its prey flew into a cramped hole in the wall of the second floor. This barn was the creature’s home.

A small light was leaking out of the barn’s roof into the night sky. Next to the barn was a lanky tree, its branches close enough to the roof to where I could jump onto it if I climbed to the top. I rushed towards the tree and booted myself onto the base. My claws hadn’t been trimmed since Mrs. Moore last cut them, which made it easier to clutch the wood and ascend the tree. As I climbed higher, the branches spread thinner. Once I reached the height of the roof, I kicked my back feet against the tree and soared into the sky. But as I landed on the roof, the shingles gave way, and I plummeted inside the barn. A vulgar screech erupted from inside, and as my feet landed on the second story floor, the creature abandoned its prey and lunged towards me. I hissed and looked for a path. Wooden stairs led down to the first floor, so I rocketed down, skipping several steps and landing on my face. A small hole between the dirt floor and the wall captured my attention. I dug my face into it and my body squirmed, but as I brought my last foot into the hole, the creature clutched at my tail. A searing pain soared through me, but I pulled away as I crawled deeper into the tunnel. I tried moving my tail to stop the pain, but it wouldn’t move properly, as if it the creature dislocated or fractured it. The creature screeched and its wings flapped away in the wind, believing I had already run away into the night.

Once I deemed it safe, I crawled through the hole and punched my head through the opening to the outside. The fresh air was satisfying, but the pain in my tail was overpowering all other senses. I tried bathing once again to soothe my tail, but it would not move in the manner I was attempting. My rogue appendage burned a hot, stinging pain with every movement, causing my brain delirium and fog. Despite my better judgment, I realized I needed a human. Someone to ease my pain, just as Mrs. Moore once did when she pulled a splinter from my paw. With apprehension, I continued down the dirt road north, past the barn. The dirt road morphed into pavement, with lampposts planted at more frequent intervals. Houses appeared in the distance as I proceeded, and a familiar city scent greeted my nose. A different city scent than my old home, but still a city scent. My ears perked as scents of baked goods, flowers, and gasoline filled the air. The houses were near-identical in size and shape, but some had second levels, others wider garages, and some with bigger backyards. It offered a more unique energy than Mrs. Moore’s city. Here, the streets felt welcome.

A house to the left of the road, near the middle of all the homes, caught my attention. On its side rested a hole, but not a hole like in the barn's wall. This was intentional. A crawlspace. I was hungry and my tail ached, but the sun was already rising and my fatigue took the better of me. A meshed fence covered the hole, but a small gap in it allowed me to sneak in. Inside, the crawlspace was quiet and dark, and before I could explore the rest of the crawlspace or investigate any other potential residents inside, my torso dropped to the ground, and I fell asleep.

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I lingered in the town for several days. To my luck, there was a veterinarian by the name of Allan who came across me one afternoon as I was seeking nourishment. He presented me with fresh water, food, and even restored my tail to its natural wag-ability. It was safer here. I would stay in the crawlspace during the day and make my way out for the provided sustenance and socialization during the evenings. The humans in the town would shout their excitement when they saw me, and a child even gave me a name. Dice. I didn’t understand what it meant, and it was a different name than what Mrs. Moore referred to me as, but it was comforting.

The nights in the town were modest, and with no stray dogs, I had the freedom to roam as I wished. Yet every once in a while, a group of young humans would sneak out in the dead of night and head south down the road from where I arrived. Whenever I saw them, I would hide and flee, but one night they caught my attention when the apparent leader of the group had a peculiar object strapped around his shoulder. It looked familiar, and as I stared at it, I realized it was nearly identical to the object Mrs. Moore’s son replaced my canvas with on the wall. A shotgun, except this one was newer and in better condition. The teenager was walking with confidence and swagger as the shotgun swayed in accompaniment to his steps. Beside him were two other juveniles, one holding a pair of binoculars and the other something… moving. I started following them to understand what was in the kid’s hand. It was squirming, and its voice made a yip that I recognized at once. A rat. One other teenager was with the group, but he walked several paces behind them while glaring at his phone, uninterested in his group’s antics, yet still present. I lingered behind them, hiding near houses and lampposts to remain undetected.

I glued all of my faculties onto the rat. The humans in this town made sure I was fed and content, but their offerings were still nothing compared to the image of chasing and savoring this rodent. I would’ve noticed the path the teenagers were following was rather familiar, but I was too focused on the rat to care. Paved roads morphed back into dirt roads, and the red barn appeared from the distance. I shuttered as I saw the barn, and I ducked my tail beneath my legs. The teenager’s mumblings soon became quieter. I could barely hear them, only being able to make out murmurs of “owl” and “buckshot” yet having no context to piece the words together.

The teenagers made it to the barn and hid behind its back wall. The leader seized his shotgun from his back and swiveled it to his front. They whispered to each other patiently, but I was too far back in the grass to hear them. A familiar figure dove into the starry sky with grace and swiftness. Mutters erupted from the teenagers, their whispers getting louder as they all grasped the objects in their hands. One youth rattled his fist on the barn, which provoked the creature in the sky to look in our direction.

Their teamwork was flawless. Calculated. Just as the creature tilted its head towards the edge of the barn, the other teenager threw the rat to the grass ahead of him, while still ensuring the barn covered them so the creature would not see them throwing it. The creature’s eyes darted towards the rat and began descending. The leader of the teenagers then hopped out from behind the barn and aimed his firearm just below the creature.

Boom.

The creature’s right wing twitched as its left wing sought to fly away. But it was no use. The creature fell, moaning and crying as the grass softened its landing. Jeering erupted from the teenagers. “Nice one, Joey!” The teenager who threw the rat patted the shotgun-handler on the back.

“Stupid owl,” Joey said, laughing.

All but the one holding the smartphone were laughing. One picked up the owl, taunting its panicked face to the others.

“L—Let’s go,” the smartphone-holding teenager said to his friends. His face was tighter than the rest, looking somewhat worried and sorry. “Someone had to have heard that. Quick, leave the owl. Let’s go before Mom finds us.”

The others chatted to themselves, made crude jokes, then headed back down the road. My tail quaked in astonishment. I held my breath in the tall grass as the kids left back towards their homes. Soft crying was coming from where the owl was. After I was sure the teens were long gone, I walked towards the owl.

The nearby grass was red, and the owl’s eyes were soaking wet. A sharp pain stabbed into my heart as I stared into the creature’s eyes. Its eyes, its expressions, its pain. The same feelings I knew all too well. Its eyes no longer appeared crazed or wild as they did the night I arrived at the barn. The owl looked innocent, helpless, as its pale-brown body writhed in pain.

My mouth opened to speak to the owl, but I couldn’t. Instead, I took my open mouth and grabbed onto the owl’s body with its bad wing out of the way, making sure I didn’t sink any teeth into it. The owl didn’t cry, moan, struggle, or speak. It was as if we both understood each other. As if the other night didn’t happen. It was as if we were the same. The owl was smaller than I was, so I carried him with ease to the entrance of the barn, which was now open. I escorted the owl to its nest on the second floor, where I set it down and started licking on its wing, hoping to ease some pain.

“You,” the owl said to me, its dark eyes still watering, “you’re the one I chased.” I nodded in understanding as I continued cleaning its wing. The wing continued bleeding, and the owl couldn’t move from the agony.

“I must take you to the town.” For the first time in my life, I spoke aloud, because, for the first time in my life, I had someone to speak to. Someone that could understand me. My voice was higher than what I was expecting, but it was gentle, smooth. “I can’t stop the bleeding,” I continued. “The humans in the town will look after you as they looked after me.”

“H-Humans? Take me to the humans? Didn’t you see what they did? They’re monsters. I’d rather die.”

“And you were a monster in my eyes just days ago. I understand your pain,” as I spoke, I lifted an arm and showed the owl several of the scars on my stomach. Scars from Mrs. Moore’s son. “Those human’s actions were inexcusable. But they’re not all that way. And you must let me help you. You must let me find someone who cares.”

Perhaps the owl was too delirious from the loss of blood, but he didn’t object. With his wet eyes blinking, his head made a brief nod. “Your name,” the owl whispered to me, “you must tell me your name.”

“Dice,” I said, “and yours?”

“Newton.” As he spoke, his eyes closed. I picked him up with my mouth and relief came over me as I felt his heart continue to beat. There was no time to concern myself with stealth or walking in the grass. Carrying Newton, I hurried down the steps and sprinted down the dirt road to the north. I saw birds, rats, and insects in my peripherals as I ran, but I did not let them stop me.

The teenagers were still outside when Newton and I made it into town. Startled, Joey swiveled his shotgun back around to his front. But before he could place his index finger around the trigger, the kid in the back of their formation stepped forward and pushed his friend to the ground. “Stop!” He said, wrestling Joey for the firearm. They kept fighting, but Joey was much stronger and wrapped his hand around the stock. His finger squirmed, desperate to reach the trigger. They each screamed. Joey wrapped his middle finger around the trigger and pulled.

The gun cracked a piercing roar into the air, then everything became silent. Joey’s face was red as a sudden realization whipped through him. He turned to his friend, who was now breathing heavily but otherwise unscathed. I breathed in relief, still holding Newton, for the shotgun pellets fired into the air, hitting no one. The neighboring doors of the houses swung open. All the humans looked flustered, anxious, and upset.

A large shirtless man stepped out of the nearest house, holding a firearm of his own. “Joey! What do you think you’re doing?” He screamed, but dropped his weapon onto his porch.

“I—Victor, he—I,” Joey stuttered.

“Joey shot the owl,” Victor, the teenager who stopped Joey, said as he pointed towards me and Newton. “He convinced us to go to the barn. I didn’t know he would shoot. Honest, I thought we were just foolin’, you know, just aimin’ it around and stuff. But then he shot the owl, and I—I—I’m sorry.” Victor’s eyes flooded with tears.

The shirtless man looked angrily at the teens. “Joey. Room. Now. You three, go inside and I’ll call your mother.” He walked over to me and Newton, and it was as if a switch had flipped inside of him. He smiled as he patted me on the head. I placed Newton on the ground and backed away. “Good boy.” He patted me again as he reached into his pajama pockets and pulled out a phone.

Allan shortly arrived in his vehicle after the shirtless man hung up the phone. Allan took the two of us to his veterinary hospital, where he stitched up Newton’s wing and fed us both. Newton was on medication for several days before he regained consciousness. He opened his eyes, stared at me, and hooted.

“Thank you, Dice.” Newton smiled. “If you are in the need of a home, you can stay at the barn with me.”

I purred and rubbed my head against his soft feathers. “I think I’ll stay here in town for a little while. They feed me here, and I’m not much of a wild cat.”

“Okay,” Newton hooted heartily, “but please, come visit anytime.” I purred louder and sat against him. For the first time since Mrs. Moore’s death, I didn’t feel alone. For the first time since her death, I had a friend. A family.

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The owners of the house with the crawlspace soon discovered I was living under their residence and welcomed me to live inside their home. They allowed me to come and go as I pleased, and Newton and I made it a routine to reunite frequently, meandering through the town and the nearby farmland during the nights and occasionally sharing a rat together for a treat. I was once again content, and while I never forgot Mrs. Moore, her son soon became a distant memory.