“Please come back, Kaye,” I moaned from my perch. It’d been three days.
I’d managed to go a full twenty-four hours without eating again, but my stomach had forced me to seek out food on the second day. I didn’t have the self-control necessary to go any longer.
Mr. Tuna was back, and he’d brought himself a lunch. A lunch he’d so conveniently packed in a brown paper bag. Let’s just say, these claws were made for shredding.
I ripped through the packaging and got to his ham sandwich lickety-split. I even scarfed down the whole thing without him taking notice. The fool.
Unfortunately, he’d later figured out it was me, and from then on, the full staff kept their lunches in a cat-proof cabinet after that.
They did at least allow me to keep my access to the bathroom. That would have been super, except word got around. Now if any human in the vicinity saw me enter the bathroom to relieve myself, they would come and watch. Then when I finished, they’d pick me up, clutch me tight to their chests, and tell me how smart and special I was.
Then, they’d inevitably try to adopt me, arguing with Bay, saying she must have it wrong. Because how could anyone leave me here on purpose, when I was obviously a purebred Ragdoll despite my strange eyes? Blah, blah, blah.
Not only was I sick of being manhandled and peeped on, I was also starving. Bay told Mr. Tuna very clearly that I wasn’t getting special dietary treatment again. That meant if I gave in to my hunger, it would be brown mush for me.
Three days of this nonsense, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I sincerely hoped my luck was about to change.
Kaye, are you coming back for me? Please, please come back.
For lack of anything more invigorating to do, I watched the mall-goers walk back and forth in front of our large display window. A little thrill shot through me as a family entered the “cat rescue” while carrying a bag of leftovers from the food court. I’d seen people walk by with this bag may times. White with red lettering, it was a place I’d eaten at before myself. Their chicken was delicious then, and it was a freaking miracle now.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I muttered, making eyes at them. “Just put it down.”
There was a chair and table on the far wall where humans liked to put their stuff while they pet all the cats. I stalked down the perches to the floor, then darted across and hid behind the chair as the family moved to greet the other residents.
Sure enough, the kid with them spotted a cat he liked and darted away, so mom set her bags down on the table. “Connor, be gentle,” she called as she ran toward her rug rat, leaving a bag full of chicken for me to steal.
I moved quickly, hopping up on the table and pulling out my claws to rip open the bottom of the bag.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
No! Busted.
Bay pulled me into her arms. “You’re not stealing these nice people’s lunches like you did to poor Harry.”
So Mr. Tuna had a name. Huh.
“But I’m so hungry,” I whined.
She hadn’t heard my words, but my meow must’ve been pitiful enough for her to understand my predicament. “I know you’re hungry, but you just have to get used to eating cat food. Your old owner didn’t do you any favors by feeding you tuna all the time.”
I snorted. Tuna, my foot. What I wouldn't have given for a nice, juicy steak. Medium rare. That would be out of this world. It may even make me forget my problems for an hour or two.
“Wait here,” Bay said sternly, plopping me down on the counter where she normally prepared the food.
A few moments later, she returned and placed a bowl of brown mush in front of me.
I wanted to turn my nose up at it, to show her I wouldn’t succumb to this cruel and unusual torture, but…
I was so hungry, I took a bite against my better judgment.
And let me tell you, it was every bit as awful as I’d imagined. Maybe even worse.
I only managed to choke down a few mouthfuls before my stomach tried to give it back. Hopefully, I’d sated my hunger enough so that I could avoid eating again for a few days. I’d be keeping my eyes peeled for a bag lunch or food court to-go bag I could steal in the meantime.
I jumped off the counter, intending to stalk over to a high-up perch, but a large tabby cat stopped in front of me.
He made eye contact with me, holding my gaze as he opened his mouth, made a squelching sound, then yakked up a gigantic hairball right in front of me.
I jumped back. “Gross, man! That almost touched me.”
The big jerk just stared at me, appearing happy with himself, as I gave him a wide berth and moved past. What a bully.
Shuddering in revulsion, I jumped up and up, delighted to find the top spot vacated by the big gray. Time to sleep the day away.
So, I slept. And the next day, when Bay fed the cats, I ate about two bites. Enough to keep from starving to death, but no more than that.
Then I slept some more. Another four days went by, and I began to lose count. At this point I’d pretty much given up all hope of ever getting out of here, but then it happened.
Bay closed up the storefront and left for the evening. Most of the mature cats had settled down while the young ones had their opportunity to party and run around unabashedly with no humans to disrupt their play.
Without warning, the back door swung open, and someone marched in. I barely twitched an ear. It wasn’t unusual for one of the volunteers to pop in after closing to pick up something they’d forgotten or to bring in a new cat.
“Moss.” Kaye’s sing-song voice filtered through my disinterested ears and woke me up.
Oh, Mylanta! She’d come back. My savior was here!
And I didn’t care what she wanted this time. I’d go with her, because it meant getting out of here.
Yes, finally, I was busting out of this joint.