So now you’ve met Jessica and John, the two Sebastians, Jason, and Pepper. But to truly understand this tale, you have to look into the heart of Bridget. For it is there that all their dreams collide, and their hopes revolve.
Some consider the mind of a cat a most undecipherable thing, a quagmire of selfish ambitions and impenetrable mysteries. True, the beasts don’t understand all human speech, or comprehend such intricate life enhancements as catalytic converters, microwave popcorn, or rabbit ear antennas. They don’t need to. God blessed them with far more efficient paths of communication. And it is also true that cats don’t devote themselves to servitude and submission to a human’s every whim, like dogs, for example. That’s also unnecessary. They can survive on their own, thank you very much. True, many bond to humans when it suits their purpose – or, like Sebastian, when it is ordained, because the “hairless giants,” as cats see humans, could not develop as He wills without a feline influence. But in most cases, a cat will cling to independence, as guaranteed all their kind by the Doctrine of Grakk-koth long, long, long ago.
Yes, that long.
That most humans don’t comprehend this or recognize the law doesn’t change its validity; it merely shows how much more mankind has to learn about this great big world. Most cats don’t care to stress the point. They usually end up going along with the illusion of human ownership since it almost always means a good bed, frequent massages, and regular meals – but it’s a convenience of will, nothing more.
Yet cats aren’t born fully grasping this, any more than humans come into the world (or even leave it) able to gracefully operate a fountain pen. Cats learn from life, and each other. That’s why Bridget reacted as she did. You see, all things – even humans – harbor that instinct to avoid imprisonment, and yet Bridget was forced into it twice, to great peril. Being shoved by unkind hands into that flimsy bag disoriented her. It subjected her to piercing needles, a humiliating chemical immersion, and a lockdown in cold darkness among other frightened, trembling prisoners. And when sleep finally brought escape, she awakened to that most hideous of fears: being suppressed in a stuffy stone cell amongst a throng of stupid, howling mongrels.
The irony was, whoever cast her into that brown paper bag ended up doing God’s will, for otherwise the little kitten would never have met Jason – and would have missed a destiny on which so many lives teetered.
Even so, everything that followed hung on her responses, her decisions – on what she chose to do, on who she chose to be. And that, of course, is how God always wills it.
At first she panicked. Exasperated, frightened, she leaped upward, seeking escape – only to discover a field of entwined metal strings blocking her way. She clung to it, upside-down, knowing she was confusing everything and caring not a lick for it. She wanted out!
The fellows below called to her. “What do you think you’re doing?” asked one black tabby. “That looks fun!” cried a silver long hair. “Don’t be afraid!” offered still another. “You can’t get out that way!” scoffed someone else. But Bridget (which was not her proper name, mind you, but we won’t get into that) didn’t care. Desperate and hungry, she needed time to think, to understand what was going on. So Bridget hung there, pondering it all through the aggravating harping of the wretched canines. And since she ignored the other fellows, she didn’t notice the giant hairless one’s scabby digits dislodging her back claws until it was too late.
As one might expect, that plunge and impact made Bridget mad. The catcalls didn’t help, of course. Some were caring, a few compassionate, but most just wanted to know what she thought she had been doing, hanging up there like a crazy bird. They knew she wasn’t hurt – God had molded cats strong and flexible enough that such falls rarely ever bruised them, though it might mess up their fur. But Bridget didn’t care about that. Confused, fearful, starving, the last thing she’d needed was a good stout blow to the head. So the kitten sprang up to the highest point she could see, a round mound of some unnaturally thick grass that sheltered a long cave. That spot, Bridget decided, was hers and hers alone. Never again would she let herself be ambushed and imprisoned. From this moment on, she would command.
There she stayed, swatting at every fellow that dared approach her, until her nose decided something she’d smelled all along just might be eatable. So she went to check it out. There, in a shallow bowl of compressed earth, lay what appeared to be dried bites of something made of meat. Chewed, discarded bits lay around; the other fellows obviously had been surviving on this. On that thought alone, Bridget took the risk and ate a piece. She then had another, and another. They weren’t savory, or even somewhat pleasant, but they satisfied her hunger.
A fellow drew near. His long gray hair flowed like water about his back legs and chest, but stood upright about his spine and forepaws. That marked a polite greeting, promising assistance, but no intimacy. His ears faced full forward, a wary sign of concern suggesting the fellow did not trust Bridget. His eyes narrowed, tight and focused, showing his alertness centered on her alone. And he offered no words of any kind – a sign he wished no further contact. He wanted food, she stood in the way, and so he was informing her that he would pass by.
Bridget, therefore, bared her teeth, stretched her claws, and charged.
We might all agree that, just perhaps, that wasn’t the most courteous response. But look at it from her eyes. Bridget was new to the cage, and still intent on getting out. This young fellow was not new to the cage, or so it seemed. Therefore, she reasoned, he might very well know something about this prison that she didn’t – and yet he’d made it clear he didn’t wish to speak with her. That left Bridget no choice but to earn his knowledge and loyalty by conquering him, more or less. She didn’t mean to hurt him. She only wished to learn what he knew.
Such logic led her to topple every fellow in the cage. Not one of them knew the answer she sought, though it soon came to her. The hairless giants had some love of the dirt the fellows cleaned themselves in. She used that to her advantage.
The first day’s escape proved easy, though it got her nowhere. The metal string cage was but one cell in a larger prison of strange ledges, dusty corners, and deadwood walls – and everywhere she went, she found still other metal string cells, some holding back those stupid mongrels, others containing multihued birds, still others housing some monstrous, fuzzy rats. And then there were the cold, hard walls of towering water that glowed under brilliant suns all their own, revealing swarms of fish that seemed right at her claw tips. That fascinating discovery proved her undoing, for it was as she balanced on a thin ledge above the bubbling water, wondering what would happen to her paw if she stuck it within that mystical pond, that the hairless giant’s callused digits fell upon her. Before she knew it, she’d been lifted by the scruff of her neck, suspended high above the world, then dropped back into the cage with the other fellows. She had but caught her breath when the sun went out.
She spent that night atop her mound, thinking. Sounds and scents were starting to sort themselves out, even as darkness and sleep brought activity within the wooden walls to a standstill. From the thick dust and old, permeating smells, this prison appeared ancient. The air just hung there, mixing with the breath, belch, and gaggle of every creature around, but not refreshing itself. Yet sometimes, every now and then, Bridget could remember a sharp, brief current had flowed through the grounds. From her mound, she couldn’t identify where this breeze came from, though she could recall its last appearance – when the sun had gone out. That strange rush of night didn’t concern her, but something else did. She could no longer smell the hairless one.
As the day opened on the front window, Bridget lay hatching a plan. Sure enough, with the clattering roll of metal came the harpy hounds a’baying. She wanted to cover her ears, but couldn’t allow it to break her concentration. Then she heard what she’d recalled – more clatter, followed by the groan of old wood. So she waited, seeking the sign that had trailed the groan.
She waited some more.
And then it came – the rush of fresh, outside air. It invigorated her with the scent of freedom!
Bridget pondered that sequence of events all through the day. The other fellows often got in the way, of course, testing her as they did, but she concentrated on the sounds and wind. For she now realized escaping the metal strings was only the first obstacle. True freedom lay in figuring out how to get out as the outside air got in. And that was tied to the hairless ones.
She made a point of getting outside her cage twice that second day – once as the giant drew out the cleaning sand, and once as he refilled their food pan. Each time she learned more of the hairless one – the weird imitation skins he wore, the unusual grunts he made when crawling against the deadwood floor, the distaste he had for dust. That last bit made no sense, considering how often he collected the used sand, but it made no difference to how Bridget would find her deliverance. For the central problem remained, in two parts: the gusts never blew when the giant opened their cage, and the giant never ceased to hunt her down once she got out. Therefore, the chance seemed remote that she would be free of the cage when an outside breeze came.
All this changed the third day. As the sun rose high, a series of short gusts came and went, each tied to the groaning wood and renewed moans of the mutts. But this time in the wind’s wake were several hairless ones of various shapes, sizes, and smells. They made all sorts of sounds, some soft and cuddly, some apprehensive, and one downright scary in its unrest. At one point the giants drew near the fellows, staring through the metal strings with large, fluttering eyes. Most of them left after a while, but not the littlest one. He stood there, eyes wide, his hairless digits wrapped through the strings.
For some instinctive reason this thrilled Bridget. She didn’t understand it, and yet, something about the innocent eagerness flowing out of this little giant intrigued her, as it did the other fellows. One of them, the sandy tabby known among the kittens as Quagloc-karrok – a name that would only get longer as he matured – jumped up beside Bridget, hoping perhaps to get a better view. He was most polite about it, dampening his fur, lowering his ears, and kneeling beside her, all in a bid to show subservience to her post, but Bridget didn’t like the distraction and kicked him hard. He rolled and rolled – ending up beside the cub’s bare pink digits!
All the kittens hesitated, wondering what in God’s Great Plan could possibly follow this. A soft crowing sound drew from the cub. A couple of his digits shifted among the metal strings to rub against Quagloc-karrok. To Bridget’s surprise, the young kitten seemed taken by the move. The fellow pushed his neck and ears against the digits, then licked them! The hairless giant cub squealed, which brought the other giants walking back in their loud, ponderous steps. Bridget tensed, not knowing what would happen. Then the cage was opened. Instinct drove her to leap at this opportunity, but this time the hairless one swatted her aside as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Without pause, his large scaly digits pinched Quagloc-karrok behind his ears and lifted the fellow out of the cage. The lid swung shut, even as the struggling kitten was laid in the hands of the tiny giant. As Bridget and all the other fellows watched, the hairless cub wrapped its digits about its brown-haired prize and drew the kitten to its face, all with obvious love. With a brief pause the old wood groaned, and a blast of wind swept about them. At its end, all but one of the giants had disappeared.
Bridget could not believe it, and yet it was true. Quagloc-karrok was gone!
The other fellows were all aflutter over this, of course. “When will he come back?” many pondered aloud. “Where did he go?” “Why didn’t they choose me?” “What will happen now?” But most of their discussions turned in anger to Bridget. She was the one who had spilled their food and water, the one who had caused all the havoc with those foolish escapes, the one who had kicked Quagloc-karrok – just as she’d been kicking and scratching them all.
After that, Bridget never enjoyed a quiet moment within that shop. And neither did Jason.