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  For Shelby, Rhedyn, and Ellery Owen

  1

  From the beginning, there were cats.

  Cats everywhere.

  I couldn’t really see them, even though my eyes were open. When they were nearby, all I was aware of was shifting shapes in the darkness.

  But I could smell them, just as I smelled my mother and her milk. Just as I smelled my brothers and sisters, close to me in a squirming, wiggling pile.

  I didn’t know they were cats at first, of course. I only knew that they were close to me, and that for some reason they didn’t try to nurse alongside me. I was grateful for that—it was difficult enough to find a place to feed at my mother’s side with my littermates always shoving me around.

  Later on, I discovered that cats were their own kind of animals, small and fast and graceful. Many of them were tiny and young and had their own mothers, which explained why they didn’t try to nurse from mine.

  We all lived together in a cool, dark home. There was dirt under my paws, and the dirt was full of old, dry smells. Above, there was a ceiling of wood. Whenever my mother got to her feet, her tail made a perfect upright curve that reached halfway to that ceiling.

  The only light that entered our home came from a small square hole at the far end, too far away for me to crawl and investigate. Through that hole came astounding smells of things that were cold and alive and wet, things that were even more delightful than the smells of dirt and cats and dogs in the home that I knew.

  Sometimes a shadow would flit across the hole and then an exciting, delicious odor would fill the air. The cats would scamper toward this smell. My mother always stood up, shook off a puppy or two, and went with them.

  My brothers and sisters and I would huddle together and squeak until she returned. Her mouth and muzzle smelled fascinating—not like milk, and yet like food. We’d lick her frantically. She’d lick us back, and I could feel that she was content.

  I was very curious about what might lie on the other side of the hole. But whenever I tried to crawl toward it, my mother would push me back with her nose.

  So I mostly kept to the small hollow in the dirt where I had been born. As my legs grew stronger and I could keep my eyes open for longer and longer stretches of time, I played with my brothers and sisters—wonderful games like Chase-Me and Is-This-Your-Tail-Or-Mine? And sometimes I played with the cats.

  There was one cat family who lived nearby with two kittens—one dark, one light. Kittens played different games than my littermates, like Stalk-Me or Pounce-and-Run or Curl-Up-and-Purr. Sometimes I was irritated by the way they played. I wanted to climb on their backs and chew on their necks, but they couldn’t seem to get the hang of this. They would just go limp whenever I tried it, and then leap away as soon as I let go. Or they’d wrap their entire bodies around my snout and bat at my face with tiny, sharp claws.

  But mostly the kittens were fun, and very good at Chase-Me. Their mother was a big, friendly creature who sometimes licked my ears or cheeks. I thought of her as Mother Cat.

  After a game with my kitten friends, my own mother would come to find me. She’d pick me up by the loose skin on the back of my neck and carry me back to where I belonged. She’d drop me in a pile of brothers and sisters, who would sniff me all over. They didn’t seem to care for the smell of cat. I couldn’t understand why.

  That was my life—my mother, my littermates, my cat friends, my wonderful home, and the mystery of the hole that someday, I was sure, I would explore.

  * * *

  One day I was nursing drowsily, my brothers and sisters next to me, when all of a sudden my mother lunged to her feet. She moved so quickly that my legs were lifted off the ground before I dropped off and fell into a heap.

  I knew instantly that something very bad was happening.

  A panic spread through our home. Cats scampered toward the back of the den, away from the square hole, some carrying kittens in their mouths. My littermates and I scrambled toward our mother, crying for her, frightened because she was frightened.

  Beams of powerful light burst in through the hole. They dazzled my eyes. I had never known anything so bright. Strange sounds came from the other side of those lights.

  “There’s, like, a hundred cats under this porch!”

  “Look, see those bowls? Somebody’s been feeding them!”

  My mother panted, backing away. We all did our best to stay with her, begging her with our tiny voices not to leave us. Her ears lay flat against her head. All of her attention focused on whatever was making these sounds and flashing these lights.

  “Well, we can’t knock down a house with a whole cat colony in the crawl space.”

  “Not just cats. See?” The light swung over my mother. “A dog, too. Looks like a pit bull.”

  “But we have to stay on schedule. We’re supposed to start building in a month.”

  “I know. I’ll have to call somebody.”

  The beams of light flickered around our home once more, and then went out. The sense of danger faded. My mother came back to us, and my brothers and sisters and I huddled around her and nursed. Milk was warmth and safety and life, so I knew everything was all right.

  Around us, cats came out of the shadows. Kittens darted and pounced. When I was done nursing, I’d find my kitten friends and Mother Cat.

  Whatever had happened to cause the panic was over.

  * * *

  A few days later, I was playing with Mother Cat’s kittens when everything went wrong.

  There was light again, but this time not just a few beams. It was a blazing explosion that turned everything bright. I froze, not sure what I should do.

  Sounds came from outside the square hole. “Get the nets ready. When they run, they’re going to do it all at once!”

  “We’re set!”

  Three large beings wiggled in behind the light. These were the first humans I had ever seen. Even though the light and the noises were alarming, something deep inside me was interested, too. I almost wanted to run toward the people as they crawled into the den.

  But I didn’t. I stayed still.

  “Got one!”

  A male cat screeched and hissed. I stared in surprise as Mother Cat seized one of my kitten friends by the scruff of the neck, carrying him away. Cats were fleeing and wailing.

  Where was my mother? I couldn’t see her; I couldn’t even smell her over the scent of frightened cats and invading humans. Then I felt sharp teeth at the back of my neck, and my body went limp. It happened automatically; I didn’t even have to think about it.

  Mother Cat had me, her teeth gentle but firm on the loose skin at the back of my neck. She dragged me deep into the shado
ws. There was a stone wall in the back of our den, split by a large crack. She squeezed me through the crack into a small, tight space and set me down with her kittens, curling up around us all.

  The two young cats were completely silent. Mother Cat was as well. I did what they did, lying still, not moving, not making a sound.

  More noise came from outside.

  “There’s a litter of puppies here, too!”

  “Hey, get that one!”

  “Come on, kitty. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to help.”

  “There’s the mother dog.”

  “She’s terrified. Careful she doesn’t bite you.”

  “Here, puppy. Here, puppy. They’re so little!”

  I heard my mother barking urgently. I knew what that meant—I should go to her! But Mother Cat pressed against me, keeping me still.

  The barking and yowling and hissing, and the strange noises made by the humans, went on for a long time. But eventually they faded away.

  The smells of angry, frightened cat faded away, too.

  After a while I slept.

  And when I woke up, my mother was gone.

  2

  Our home was empty. There were no cats except the ones I’d been hiding with.

  And no dogs, either.

  I went over to the hollow in the dirt where I had snuggled with my brothers and sisters and had sucked milk from my mother. It still smelled like my family, but they were gone. A miserable, lonely feeling rose up inside me as I sniffed the dirt. I could not hold back a whimper.

  Mother Cat and the kittens made their way to the small, crumpled piece of cloth that I thought of as their home. Frantic, I hurried over to Mother Cat and nudged her with my nose. Where was my dog mother? Where was my family? What had happened?

  Mother Cat sniffed me all over. She licked at my face. Then she lay down. The kittens burrowed into her side. Mother Cat gazed at me, and I felt her concern. She wanted to take care of me, and I needed to be taken care of. I needed a mother, and now, it seemed, that mother was Mother Cat. I nestled in next to my kitten friends.

  Mother Cat’s milk tasted strange, but it was what I needed. I nursed and felt a little better. Then we all lay together on the square of cloth, Mother Cat and her kittens and me.

  After a while, something moved in the light from the hole. I lifted my head. Mother Cat did, too.

  I saw a person. A young person. A young male person.

  A boy, peering into our home, squinting.

  “Kitty? Kitty?”

  Mother Cat sniffed the air and climbed to her feet. She left me and the kittens on our piece of cloth. We squirmed a little closer together for warmth and comfort.

  “Oh, wow, are you the only one left?” asked the boy. “I don’t know what happened. Did somebody take all the other cats while I was at school?”

  The boy crawled into the hole. He was different from the people who’d been here before. He didn’t shout and grab. He didn’t bring blazing lights.

  Still, I was wary. This boy could be dangerous. But even though I was frightened of him, I also felt an urge to get up and trot over to him. It was strange, but part of me wanted to be close to a human.

  This human.

  “They left your bowls, though. Here.” Something rattled against metal, and Mother Cat gave a soft meow of approval. A delicious smell—a food smell—wafted toward me.

  “Listen, you can’t stay here,” the boy said. “They’re going to tear down this house, and they’re going to do it soon. You’ll have to go somewhere safe. I’ll figure out what to do. I’m good at figuring stuff out. But you can’t stay here much longer, okay?”

  The boy crawled back out of the hole, and Mother Cat hurried over to stick her head into the bowl that he had filled with food. After a while, I could not resist. I got up, leaving my kitten friends behind, and went to join her.

  Mother Cat did not push me away as my own mother used to do. She let me put my head into the dish beside hers.

  Food. Moist, soft food! It was not milk, yet I wanted it in my mouth. It was strange and interesting and delightful, with amazing flavors.

  Then I moved on to the other bowl. It felt funny to lap at water instead of sucking in milk, but it also felt right.

  Once Mother Cat and I were done, we returned to our piece of cloth. I wondered if the boy would come again.

  I hoped so.

  * * *

  The boy did come back, the very next day. He put more food and water in the bowls. Again, I waited with Mother Cat until the boy went away, and again I followed her and hungrily ate the interesting new food.

  The boy came every day. The kittens started coming to the bowls as well, tasting the new food and lapping at the water, just as I did.

  Then, once again, everything changed.

  Noise came from outside, a new kind of noise that I had never heard before—crunching, grinding, growling. It sounded like something on the other side of the hole was very big and very angry.

  Mother Cat was lying on our square of cloth. The kittens had been playing Pounce-and-Jump-Away but now, as the angry noises grew louder and louder, and closer and closer, we looked over at Mother Cat. She stood up, her head turning, her pointed ears alert. The hair along her spine began to lift and bristle.

  I knew what that meant. Danger was near.

  The kittens and I ran to be near Mother Cat. But being near did not make us feel safer. The noise was so loud that the very ground under our feet was starting to tremble, as if it were afraid, too.

  Then the noise became unbearable.

  Crash! Above us, something huge had fallen. Our ceiling quaked. Dust rained down in a thick shower. One corner of our den cracked and broke. Light spilled in.

  Mother Cat yowled in anger and defiance, turning around and around, her tail lashing the air. But what could she fight? The kittens mewled in terror. I squatted and peed in the dirt, too scared to keep it in. But none of that made things better.

  Through the new hole in our den, I could see what was happening outside. The shapes and colors out there were unfamiliar to my eyes, but I saw something huge that moved across the ground, scraping and crunching at the earth. A growling noise came from deep inside it. That was the threat. I was sure of it.

  Then I saw a new shape, something small and quick. It darted in front of the big square object. Dimly, I could hear a sound made by this shape. “Stop! Stop! There are still cats in there!”

  It was the voice of the boy, the one who came with food and water. But food and water would not help now.

  And the boy could not fight something as huge as that angry, noisy shape. Neither could Mother Cat.

  But to my astonishment, the big square loud thing paused and hesitated, as if it were afraid of the boy in front of it.

  Another, deeper voice yelled, “Kid, get out of the way!”

  “There are cats in there! You can’t knock it down! Stop! Stop!” the boy shouted.

  The big square thing stopped moving. It stopped growling, too. But I was still terrified. Mother Cat’s eyes were wide and her ears lay flat against her head. The kittens looked the same.

  “What? What are you saying?” called a voice.

  “There are cats living in there!” I recognized the boy’s voice, but I had no idea what his noises meant.

  “No, kid, look, you got it wrong. There were some stray cats in there, sure, but we called some people. They got the cats out. Don’t worry. And don’t run in front of a bulldozer again! You crazy or something?”

  With a snort, the low growl began again. I whimpered, panicked.

  “No, they didn’t get all of them!” The boy’s voice rose. He sounded panicked, too. “There are still cats under the porch. You can’t knock the house down now! You’ll kill them!”

  The growling died away once more. After that there was a lot more of the noises people make with their voices. But at least the growling and crashing did not come back, and the big angry thing did not come any closer. Mothe
r Cat and the kittens and I huddled together on our piece of cloth, all trembling. Mother Cat recovered enough to give us all some licks with her scratchy, strong tongue.

  Maybe we were safe now. And maybe the boy would come inside with some food. Food was always good.

  But he did not come. Instead, what came inside was light.

  Blazing light.

  Two people were crawling into our home, carrying the light with them. It was happening again! Whatever had come to take away my brothers and sisters was coming for me!

  We all fled the light. I was vaguely aware of Mother Cat diving into the crack in the wall where we had hidden before, while I ran to the new hole in the corner, climbing over dirt and chunks of broken stone.

  “Here, kitty, here, kitty,” one of the people said, crawling forward. “Can you get that one, Audrey?”

  “Got her!”

  “Where’s the mother?”

  I had to get away. I burst out through the hole, landing on the grass.

  For the first time in my life, I was outside of the den.

  3

  The light out here was even brighter than the light the people had carried into the den. And there were so many smells! The grass all around me was taller than I was, and it closed over my head. It smelled alive and sharp.

  But there were other smells, too, and lots of those big objects that made the growling noises. They had round wheels and smelled bitter and strange. There were many humans, some standing, some walking with impatient steps, some talking with one another. “Hey, boss, how much longer are we going to wait around?” one of them asked.

  It was all bewildering! I did not know what was a threat and what might be safety. My nose was overwhelmed with all the new scents, but I didn’t have the luxury of sniffing at them. I had to run!

  I pushed through the grass. I didn’t know where I was running or what I might find. I just knew that I had to get away.