Boots

   The time had come for Boots to leave his birthplace. It was very clear to him what he needed to do, but his littermate Gingerbread just wasn’t getting it.

   He could tell by her sad eyes; her tail brushing the grass; her coat, matted with dirt and mud. She was upset.

   “You can’t leave, Boots! You’re all I have left.” she meowed.

   Boots felt as if his heart was breaking. “I can’t stay here any longer.” he looked away, not wanting to see her face.

   Ginger appeared to say something, but Boots turned his ears away. He wanted to get out of there before he changed his mind.

   “I need you, Boots.”

   He entwined his tail with hers. “You will always be my littermate, Gingerbread. But we’re not kittens anymore. We need to make our own lives.” he meowed before turning and walking away.

   He thought briefly about stopping by the barn one last time for a quick mouse, but was afraid that he would run into his mother and would have to say goodbye. So he continued on his way, heading to the fence separating the property from the neighbors’. When he got there, he saw that Spunky was waiting for him, perched atop the fence post with the chipped white paint.

   “Boots,” Spunky meowed. “Where ‘ya headed?”

   “I’m not exactly sure. But I don’t belong here anymore.” Boots replied.

   Spunky’s tail drooped. “Well, don’t let yourself go hungry!” he joked, but not with enthusiasm.

   “Hey, you were a great friend, Spunky.” Boots meowed. “I’ll never forget you.”

   “Who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other again.” Spunky purred.

   Boots waved his tail before slipping under the fence. He wasn’t real worried about finding a place to stay; he figured he would be a loner now.

   It was starting to grow dark, so he climbed a large oak tree, and nestled himself into the branches. He slept lightly, dreaming of Gingerbread and his mother. They were crying and wailing, unable to defend themselves against a large pack of wild dogs. He flattened his ears and dropped into a crouch, ready to fight for them, but his tail became caught in a thicket of brambles and he was unable to move.

   When he awoke the next morning, a bird was pecking at his tail. Stupid bird, he thought before he killed it with a single swipe of his paw.

   He dragged his prey down the trunk of the tree, and then crouched down on the soft grass to eat his meal. His emotions were raging against each other. He loved the feel of depending on himself completely, and the peace and quiet of his solitude. On the other hand, he missed Gingerbread already, and he was worried about her. Will Ginger be alright on her own? he thought guiltily.

   Boots pushed the thought out of his head quickly. He knew he needed to put his past behind him and concentrate on the future--he was going to have to start stocking up on food. The temperature dropped a little more each day, and prey was beginning to become sparse. He also planned to scout out a place where he could hunt and store his food.

   That night he came across a small farm. There were cornfields where mice would surely be abundant plus an old barn to sleep in. Boots sniffed around the area carefully--there was a stale scent of dog, but no cat. Apparently, this place was up for grabs.

   Boots sighed happily. This would be a great place to live, at least temporarily. He walked down the path and jumped through a loose board into the barn, where he made himself a cozy little nest in the hayloft.

   He spent the next day hunting in the cornfield and napping in the sunshine on top of the rusty green tractor.

   “I’m really beginning to like this place.” he meowed to himself.

   His belly grumbled, and he stretched his paws lazily over the edge of the roof. I could go catch a mouse, he thought. but maybe the people who live here will give me some cat food.

   Boots pulled himself up and leaped to the ground nimbly. He padded over to the farmhouse and meowed loudly at the door, hoping to attract the people. All of the sudden, Boots was knocked off his paws. A dozen hens dashed around him, clucking and flapping their wings in an effort to get off the porch and away from the cat. They were terrified, but Boots had not touched them, or even known that they were there. 

   The screen door slammed open.

   “What is going on?” a plumb lady wearing a checkered apron appeared on the porch. Her eyes fell on Boots briefly. “Honey, get out here! A cat is attacking the chickens!” she shouted.

   A large broad shouldered man stepped out of the door, cradling a gun in his arms. Boots had the sense to get out of there as fast as he could. Tail streaming behind him, he sprinted off through the grass and leaped over the fence, a bullet whizzing past his shoulder. He ran and ran, until he tripped on a rock and fell flat on his face. By this time, he was far from the farm, but still a little shook up. He picked himself up and drew a paw across his nose; it was bleeding.

   “Boots? Is that you?” a soft voice called eagerly.

   He turned, and there was Ginger with a black and white tom at her side.

   “Gingerbread!” he purred, rubbing his pelt against hers.

   “Are you okay?” she meowed, indicating his nose.

   “Our humans can fix that,” the tom meowed. “By the way, my name’s Twigs.”

   “Humans?” Boots asked.

   “I live with Twigs in that house over there,” Ginger pointed to a small house painted purple with a large number of fruit trees growing in the yard. “The humans are really nice. Kinda like the ones where we used to live, before, you know…” Ginger’s voice trailed off. She looked at her paws.

   “They would heal your nose, I’m sure, if you would just come inside. They’re very compassionate.” Twigs meowed.

   Boots frowned. “That’s okay.”

   “Can’t you at least visit for a little while? I miss you.” Ginger meowed.

   Boots shifted his paws. “I haven’t eaten all day, and the thought of a fresh mouse is making my stomach rumble.”

   “Oh, okay. Well, if you’re going to stick around the neighborhood, stop by sometime. You know where to find us.”

   Boots could tell Ginger wanted to beg him to stay, but she was holding herself back.

   I don’t want to be a housecat, he thought. it’s fine for Ginger, but not for me. Anyway, she’s not lonely anymore; she has Twigs. I’m not needed here.

   But when he gave himself a little tour of the neighborhood, he decided that he liked it there. Plenty of houses left out cat food, and the people there were friendly, not at all like the farmers.  

   Making a quick decision, he waked down an ally and left his scent on the corner of a brick building, then continued to leave scent marks in an area not too far away from the little purple house.

   He smiled when he thought about visiting Gingerbread again. He could visit her whenever he wanted now.