Hunter stared through the bars of the cage. He was relieved to see the boy and his mother, but that didn’t stop him from trying to strike at them through the bars.
He surveyed his surroundings. He was inside a human den, the boy and his mother’s den. Hunter had sat on enough window ledges to know what they looked like. But he never thought he would be trapped inside one. On the other side of the room he saw a window, but he wasn’t close enough to see anything out of it except sky. A few pigeons would sit on the ledge for a couple of minutes and then fly away. More than ever he wished he could fly, but even a bird couldn’t get out of this cage.
He got up and paced. For the thousandth time that day he circled the cage, looking for an opening, a way out. There had to be an opening somewhere. He had stepped through it to get into the cage, so it existed. He just had to wait for it to open again. When it did, he’d be ready.
It had taken a full day before he realized he still had all his claws. By the second day, the swelling in his paw was gone and he could put his full weight on it. When the boy entered the room on day three, he had almost forgotten it was wounded.
Hunter glared at the boy, and then he softened his eyes. For the first few days, Hunter was furious with the boy. He had tricked Hunter, trapped him and kept him in a cage.
Hunter had learned the boy’s name was Taylor because he reacted whenever his mother said that word.
Taylor spent a lot of time with Hunter. He sat by the cage, talking softly and gently offering food, first through the little slot in the side of the cage, and then finally he just pushed little pieces through the bars. At first, Hunter had refused to take the food. If Taylor knew Hunter was a hunter, then why did he keep him in that little cage, unable to hunt, unable to move? If he stayed in the cage, he was going to starve. It was better to die than live in a cage. The food smelled good. He needed to eat if he wanted to live. He had no choice. Besides, Taylor had never given the cats bad food. If he wanted Hunter dead, he could easily kill him.
Hunter’s foot got stronger over time. Taylor spent hours sitting with him. When Hunter looked into Taylor’s eyes one day, he finally saw what Mittens had. Taylor was not there to hurt him. Somehow being trapped and caged had something to do with Taylor trying to help him. Hunter had one question—how long would he have to remain here?
From across the room, Hunter could tell Taylor had brought food, chicken. Hunter had never eaten it, but he recognized the smell. Taylor held out a piece, and Hunter cried out. He wanted the chicken. Hunter pricked his ears up to listen. Sometimes Taylor said things. Of course Hunter could not understand much of what he had said, but he had learned a few words. Taylor had mentioned King and Mittens before. Hunter couldn’t help but worry about Mittens. It was a worry he couldn’t do anything about. And then Taylor said junkyard. Taylor leaned close and pushed the piece of chicken through the bars. Hunter gently took the piece of chicken from his fingers.
Taylor put his face against the bars. Hunter was hesitant, but then he eventually moved toward the bars. Taylor pulled out another piece of chicken, and Hunter took it. Hunter couldn’t believe how good the chicken tasted, or that he was allowing Taylor to feed him.
Taylor continued to talk. He said something about home. Hunter wasn’t sure if he had said he was going to take him home, or explaining why he had taken Hunter away from his home. Hunter looked deep into Taylor’s eyes. Taylor was friendly, gentle. His eyes didn’t lie.
Hunter rubbed against the inside of the cage. Taylor pressed his hand against the bars and scratched Hunter behind the ears. Hunter began to purr.