Boy
His eyes opened. He
stretched, sniffed. The air was very warm and heavy with a storm,
but it was morning yet. The storm wouldn't hit for another three
or four hours. He still had time to get his chores done. He
stretched again, shook his tired head and started out.
He had to protect his territory. Patrol its boundaries and keep
the other predators out. Even his own kind. It was a constant
struggle and the area wasn't that big. He had to constantly fight
to keep this little piece of meadow to himself. Without a
territory of his own, he wouldn't have enough to eat, a safe
place to bed down during the day. He would be run off and would
probably starve. That, and the need to produce offspring of his
own, were the instincts that drove him. Relentlessly.
Continuously.
He padded through the tall grass…smelling, feeling. He
knew the large one had been near last night. He had heard it
again. Very large. Not a cat, something else. He didn't know what
it was, only that he had to stay clear of it. It was too big for
him to tackle. He crept closer to the back of the apartment
building across the lane. This was the back part of his rounds.
If he could get across the lane and in the patio, there would be
fresh water and some dried food waiting for him. He waited at the
edge of the meadow, near the lane. Waited. Watched.
Smelled.
And thought. This had been the fourth summer that he could
remember. During his first summer, he had heard a human voice
call out. It called out "Toy". When she did, a small calico cat
had run to her and jumped into her arms. The feral crept closer
and watched. The woman carried the cat to the small wooden gate
of the patio, opened it and the calico jumped from her arms and
straight to the food bowl. The calico only ate a few bites, then
followed the woman inside. The feral cat slowly crept closer,
quietly, softly. He came close to the gate. Saw that it had a
hole cut into it at the bottom. Just large enough for a medium
sized cat to get through. He stuck in head into the hole and
smelled the food and water. He turned and ran. Fast. Across the
lane and back into the meadow's tall grass. His heart beating and
his breath coming in quick gasps, he finally rested, well out of
range. He had taken a huge risk, but he filed what he had learned
into his memory for future reference. Now, every time the woman
called Toy, he came close to watch and just maybe…maybe he
could ………
Today he would go through the cut in the gate with caution, but
without much real fear. He would stop for a drink of the cool,
fresh water and a nibble or two of the dried food. He hadn't seen
the calico for a long, long time. Last fall it was. But still,
every afternoon the woman would call. "Boy" is what she would
call now. He knew it was for him. He knew that when she called
his name, there would be fresh water and food waiting for him. He
never did what the calico did, jump into her arms, but he knew
she watched him. There was a peace between them. An
understanding.
In his four summers he had been badly hurt many times. He had
always found his way here. He thought of it as a magical place.
When he was in pain and wounded badly, the food and water tasted
differently. He healed quickly, but never put the two pieces of
information together. He only knew it as his safe place. His
refuge. Boy's place.
Today he saw it again. The toy with catnip inside. It was under
the chair, in the shade. He had never smelled this delicacy
before he was hurt the first time, but he came to really love
that little stuffed, soft, thing. It was his. Here in his refuge.
He went up to it and rubbed against its soft side. He knew better
than to play with it today. He had too much to do. He made his
sound of goodbye…a soft growl, and padded out the hole in
the gate and back to his meadow.
The smell of the storm was stronger. He had to find a new, safe
place to sleep for the afternoon. Somewhere out of the rain. He
ran up one of his favorite trees, crawled deep into the branches
and curled up under a canopy of leaves. He settled in to wait out
the storm.
The wind picked up, swirling leaves and small branches
everywhere. The big tree's branches shook, but his stayed steady.
He knew it would. The rain started and came in gusts. The thunder
was deep and strong. He had been close to lightning before, but
he didn't smell any right now. His eyes closed and the sounds of
the wind and rain lulled him to sleep.
Hours later he woke, hungry. Everything was still wet, but in
the heavy dark air, it would dry soon. He smelled the air around
him, listening, waiting. Not sensing anything near, he came out
of his tree and started his hunt for food. He had fought many
others for this rich field, and he knew every inch of it well. He
quickly caught his first small meal and ate it on the run.
Several mice later, he found his other favorite tree and was
about to jump up into it when something hit him from the back. He
felt teeth sink into his neck, but he was able to free himself
just as a huge paw slapped him back down. Something very large,
black and fierce now had its teeth sunk into his rear leg. Boy
aimed for the raccoon's eyes, red and glowing. He managed to hook
his claws into one of those horrible eyes and he struggled with
all of his might to rip it out. He had partially succeeded when
the teeth let go. The cat tried to stand, but the raccoon
attacked again. This time for the throat.
Boy struggled hard, but the harder he fought, the deeper the
teeth sank into his flesh. He couldn't breathe. He was loosing
blood too fast. Boy played dead. Just went limp. The raccoon
shook him, again and again. Then dropped him and ambled off, deep
into the woods.
Boy lay there, not daring to move. He knew he couldn't run, his
back leg was hurt too badly. He felt the skin from the side of
his face laying open, his blood seeping out. Still he waited.
Finally he knew he had to move on. There were no sounds, no
smells. But there had been none earlier, why? The rain, he
thought. Probably. But it didn't matter now. All that mattered
was that he make his way to his place of refuge. His safe
place.
He slowly gathered himself and began to crawl, one slow inch at
a time, toward the lane. Every minute was torture. Every halting
step took more strength. He was near now. Slowly he came to the
hole in the fence. He had always been careful to not leave a
trail to the place, but now he didn't care. He couldn't care, he
could only go there. He smelled the fresh water now, but he
didn't want to drink. He only wanted the one thing that had
brought him comfort before. His toy. He found it under the
chair.
Boy took his good paw and pulled it to him. He settled down
beside the water dish and placed his tired, torn head down on the
toy. The delicious smell of it calmed him. The softness of it
soothed him. He thought of those days, so long ago, when he could
cuddle up to his siblings and rest. He held those thoughts as the
darkness closed around him.
Just as he felt the last of his life fall away from him, he
thought he heard his name. Boy. And the darkness took him.
This story is reprinted here with permission of the author, Karel Bergstrom. Please visit Karel's Restless Legs Syndrome support site, Nightwalkers to read more of her stories and for the story behind the stories.
