Hunter never felt so alive as when he was on the hunt. That night his senses tingled as he moved down the alley. It wasn’t quite dark, so he stayed close to buildings and stayed in the shadows. As far as he could tell, there was nothing else in the alley—no cats, humans or even rats—but it was hard to know for sure. The alley was filled with smells. There were so many and they were so strong, they almost blinded his nose. But if he couldn’t smell anything, neither could the rats or mice he was hunting.
Two large, loud exhaust fans forced more fumes out of a building and into the alley. At times, the noise was even more pervasive than the smells. Hunter had to rely on his sight. As darkness continued to unfold, his night vision was his best tool…and his best defense.
The hunter could always become the hunted, so he had to be wary. In the alley there were hardly ever any cars. And humans rarely walked down it, especially at night. He knew they were inside the buildings, but other than opening a door to bring out garbage, he hardly ever saw them here. Sometimes a door would be left propped open. He was careful around these openings, but he also peered inside sometimes. Curiosity with a purpose. He wanted to find out more about the humans. While he knew he’d never share Mittens’s feelings for them, he did find them fascinating. They were hunters like him, but also organizers and builders. They were ruthless, but they were successful. They were the dominant creature.
He snaked around garbage cans, threading his way through the small gaps and openings where his prey might be hiding. He stopped to feed on crumbs that had spilled out of the cans and then continued. At each twist he was ready to pounce. But at each twist there was nothing. Maybe he needed a different vantage point.
He leaped up onto a row of garbage cans. Their lids were sealed tight, some were even held in place with cords. Even through the lids he could smell the food inside. This food wasn’t something that was being thrown to him, like charity. This food he took was food he had hunted for. Since humans didn’t intend for him to have this food, he knew it was safe.
Unfortunately his paws and claws couldn’t open the containers. He had to wait for a can with a lid that had been left open or tipped over and the contents spilled out onto the pavement. He prowled the alley, looking for rodents and garbage. In one way, the two weren’t much different: He couldn’t catch a mouse that wasn’t there, and he couldn’t eat from a can that wasn’t open.
Up on the garbage cans he had a better view, and he was safer. With height came advantage—something no dog could ever understand. Dogs were such limited animals. They couldn’t climb or imagine.
From this elevation, he could pounce on an object below using gravity and the force of his weight, to add to the might of his muscle and the speed of his attack. Most animals didn’t look up, so an attack from above was much more of a suprise. Hunter had learned to look side to side, up and down when he was on the prowl.
Once he had been hunting in a field and stalked a mouse. Slowly, stealthily, he had crept closer and closer to it. He had placed himself between the mouse and its hole. There was no place for it to run. He crept closer and closer. Ten lengths away, then nine. The mouse still hadn’t seen Hunter, but then a bird swooped down from the sky and grabbed it.
Hunter had been so startled he jumped backward. The bird flew away, carrying the mouse in its claws. Hunter had been close enough to hear the bird’s talons sinking into the mouse. He had been angry with the bird. But there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t as if he could grow wings and chase after the bird.
Many times since that day Hunter has seen hawks kill. They were fast, faster than any cat, and moved on silent wings, more silent than any cat could be. For the first time he actually questioned whether another animal might be superior to cats, but dismissed the thought. Sometimes he wished he could fly. He almost could fly. He leaped up from the cans and landed on a window ledge, far above the garbage bins.
His body tingled and he froze. Cats had an extra sense, one Hunter doubted even hawks had. They could see things beyond their vision and hear things that barely made a sound. Slowly, first with his eyes and then with his head, he scanned the surroundings. He saw movement. It wasn’t much more than a darker patch, more a shadow than an object, and it was moving.
He narrowed his eyes and focused on the shadow. It was big, at least three times as big as him, and walked on all fours. Was it a dog? He was safe on the window ledge. He wouldn’t be noticed. The animal shifted and came toward him. It was neither graceful nor quick, and it waddled. He knew it was a raccoon.
The raccoon emerged from the shadows. He was brown and black. He was big, much bigger than most of the raccoons Hunter had seen.
The raccoon slowly made his way forward. They were awkward creatures, but they had sharp claws and teeth, and could climb. Hunter had heard stories about raccoons confronting dogs and sending them howling. Cats and raccoons tended to leave each other alone. Raccoons didn’t prey on cats, and cats couldn’t prey on raccoons. A cat could kill a raccoon kitten, but it would be risky. Raccoons were protective and aggressive parents. Both the mother and the father helped raise a litter, just as Hunter and Mittens did.
At first the other toms in Hunter’s colony had grumbled about his role as a parent. “Tomcats don’t act like mother cats,” they had said. But after Hunter attacked the big tabby who had questioned him, he never heard about it again.
The raccoon rumbled forward, stood on his back legs and leaned against one of the garbage bins. The raccoon was so big his head peeked over the lid. He used his front paws to try to pry off the lid. Hunter was fascinated by the raccoon’s paws. They looked like human hands more than animal paws. Those little fingers worked independently to try to unpeel the lid. The raccoon tried and tried, but it wasn’t working.
The raccoon wrapped his arms around the can and rocked it, back and forth. It swayed and crashed to the ground, making a tremendous noise. Hunter was afraid the noise had attracted the attention of humans. He looked around, but no one entered the alley.
The can was on its side, but the lid remained in place. The raccoon wasn’t through with it yet. He worked on the lid until it popped open and garbage spilled out.
The can was filled with food, and Hunter was hungry. Hunter got off his haunches and slowly moved forward. He wanted what was inside the can, and he was going to get it.
The raccoon had his back turned to Hunter and was focused on the food. Hunter slinked along the length of the ledge and leaped on top of one of the bins. He landed as softly as possible, and the sound was muffled by the drone of exhaust fans attached to some of the buildings.
Hunter crept along the tops of the bins. And then the raccoon saw him. The raccoon stopped feeding and the two animals locked eyes. He opened his mouth. Hunter saw a glint of white and knew he should retreat. But instead he leaped to the ground, giving up the only advantage he had—elevation. He crept forward, closer and closer, finally freezing only a few lengths away from the raccoon.
The raccoon didn’t move to attack, and he certainly wasn’t running away. Instead, he leaned into the garbage can, pulled out a piece of food and tossed it toward Hunter. It landed at Hunter’s feet.
“Thank you,” Hunter said.
“You are welcome, my friend. I thought you weren’t going to come,” said the raccoon.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Hunter said. “If I could have opened up the can, I would have started eating without you.”
“Instead you practiced your catlike stealth. Even for a cat you’re particularly stealthy.”
“High praise.”
Hunter sniffed the food and began eating. He heard a sound, a human sound. Hunter looked all around. The raccoon turned and looked in the same direction. They both saw the human hiding in the bushes on the other side of the alley at the same time. He wasn’t very big, just a boy.
The boy stepped out of the shadows, and Hunter recognized him. It was the boy from the junkyard, the one who had been feeding the colony. The two animals stared at him and then the boy spoke. His voice was loud enough to be heard over the exhaust fans, but soft enough not to be a threat. The boy showed his teeth and made a sound—laughter, Mittens had called it. It was a sign he was happy.
“We don’t have to be afraid of him,” Hunter said.
“Yes, I know. He’s going to go now,” the raccoon said.
As the raccoon predicted, the boy stepped into the alley and walked away, disappearing from sight.
“How did you know he was leaving?” Hunter asked.
“He said so.”
“You understand human?” Hunter asked.
“I’ve learned to understand some of what they say. But how did you know he meant no harm? You don’t trust humans.”
“I know that boy.”
“Don’t you see humans as enemies?” the raccoon asked.
“Yes, don’t you?” Hunter asked.
“I’m eating their food. Their junkyard provides shelter for you and your colony. Do enemies provide food and shelter?”
“Do friends kill and poison?” Hunter said.
“I didn’t say friends. Just not enemies,” the raccoon said. “Can’t there be something between friends and enemies?”
Hunter didn’t know how to answer.
“Take cats and raccoons. We’re not enemies, but we’re not friends,” said the raccoon.
“Oh, I thought that…”
“We are friends,” the raccoon said. “You and I, but usually cats and raccoons are not friends.”
“Why are we friends?” Hunter asked.
“Let me tell you about my mother. She was killed by a car.”
“I told you humans are our enemies!” Hunter snapped.
The raccoon shook his head. “The car and the humans in it were not trying to kill my mother. It just happened. It was an accident.”
“It happens too often to be an accident. They are trying to kill us.”
“No, if they were trying to kill us, then we would be dead,” the raccoon said. He reached into the can and pulled out another piece of food, tossing it to Hunter. “I sat on the road, beside the body of my mother for a long time. I was alone, and so young that I didn’t know what I should be afraid of. Other cars came by, but ignored me. Then a big mother cat appeared.” He paused. “Looking back at it now, I think she may have thought about eating me.”
“Cats don’t eat raccoons,” Hunter said.
“Only because they can’t. Wouldn’t you have tried to kill me the first time we met if I wasn’t so much bigger than you?”
Hunter didn’t answer. He was a cat, so that thought had entered his mind.
“I was so little, that the mother cat could have killed me. In some ways it would have been more kind to kill me than to leave me there to die. But instead she took me into her den. The reason I am friends with you is that my life was saved by a cat…a cat who reminds me of you. I think of us as brothers.”
“I’ve never had a brother or a sister. I was the only one in my litter. But if I did have a brother, I could do no better than you,” Hunter said.
“That is a high compliment. I believe in my next lifetime I may even come back as a cat.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean, come back as a cat?” Hunter asked.
“It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure what I mean myself, but I’ll try. Someday we will all stop living, but I wonder if after this life we might come back in another form.”
“I still don’t know what you mean,” Hunter said.
“Something about us, our essence, is more than just the body we live in. When the body stops, I think the essence goes somewhere else. Maybe into a kitten being born, or a human or even a dog.”
“I’d never want to be a dog!” Hunter said.
“Most of them are harmless, simple sorts who just follow orders. At least the ones I’ve talked to.”
“You talk to dogs?”
“Yes, they mainly talk about food, listening to orders, and for some strange reason they often talk about squirrels.”
“Squirrels?” Hunter asked.
“They are fascinated by squirrels.”
“What could you ever learn from a dog except how to drool and scratch yourself?”
“There are many dog qualities I admire. They are loyal, and they take care of each other. Can you imagine how a cat colony would work if cats could be counted on to care for each other?”
Hunter had been thinking about that ever since Mittens first mentioned the idea to him. But he knew it wasn’t possible. He was surpised to hear the raccoon talking about it too. “Cats are too independent to follow orders or work as a group,” said Hunter.
“Aren’t you and Mittens working as a group of two to raise your kittens?” the raccoon asked.
“That’s different.”
“Not really. Two is just a smaller group. The two of you remind me of a pair of geese more than a couple of cats.”
“Do you see any feathers?” Hunter asked as he lifted up his paw.
“No, but I do see a couple dedicated to each other. Do you know geese mate for life?”
Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t, but I’d like to talk to a pigeon one day.”
“Very dull birds. They make dogs seem bright.”
“I only want to tell them to land on the ground where I can catch them.” Hunter laughed.
“You’d be surprised. It’s very hard to kill something you’ve spoken to. It’s hard to hate something after you see how connected we all are,” the raccoon said.
“Cats have to kill to live. Besides, if we come back as something else after we die I’m doing a rat a favor killing it so it has a chance to come back as something better.”
“A rat might not see it that way,” the raccoon said. “It’s been so long since I took another creature’s life.”
“We kill to live,” Hunter said.
“That is part of being a cat. That is a big part of your essence,” the raccoon said. “That cannot be changed, but you could learn so much from other animals. The faithfulness of geese, the loyalty of dogs, the organization of humans, the cleverness of raccoons, the—”
“The stink of skunks,” Hunter said.
“Okay, perhaps not all animals. But I know you’ll be wise enough when you’re king to—”
“What makes you think I’ll be king?” Hunter asked.
“You will be,” the raccoon said. His words were quiet, reassuring and certain. “I like cats, but not all cats. In fact, if I ever decide to kill anything again, I’ll walk into your colony and gut that king of yours. He’s not a nice fellow.”
“He doesn’t need to be nice, he’s the king.”
“But he could be nice, if he wanted to. One day you’ll be a different sort of king.” He reached into the can and pulled out another piece of food and threw it to Hunter. “But until then, keep learning. There is much to learn.”