I smell a mouse.
This first moment is arguably the best, most exhilarating moment of the entire chase. The first, elusive whiff of the quarry dancing across my nostrils, the sudden rush of sensation as the spoor fills my nasal passages and almost overwhelms my mind with information, the lingering hint of taste at the very back of the tongue… It’s enough to paralyze me with anticipation. That is until I feel this flood of energy wash down my spine, shooting down my limbs, coiling in my haunches, pushing me off the bed. No true hunter can resist the allure of the hunt.
The faint sound of scuffling and scratching reaches my ears. My quarry is trapped… that is unfortunate. My paws flash over the ground as I accelerate out of the bedroom towards the increasingly panicked squeaks. There will be no chase, but the kill will be just as satisfying. It’s so fulfilling, tasting its fear and then its blood… Every sensation is full of exhilaration: the rush of air over my long, elegant tail, the sense of weightlessness as I dart quickly and quietly across the carpet, the flow of my muscles beneath my silky, ebony fur. This is what I was born to do.
My feet bring me to the source of the sounds: the space behind the fridge. The linoleum touches my belly as I slink into the shadows, eyes wide and ears twitching. So close now, and it is still unaware of its impending death. Since there will be no hunt, I will just have to make the play last longer. Lingering out of sight, I let my scent travel ahead of me. I would hate for it too die of fright so quickly. Haunches coiled, my tail flickers as I prepare to launch myself around the corner…
“Chase, get out from there! You’ll get all dirty.” Hands grab me around my waist and yank me into the air. My claws flail awkwardly in front of me as I am robbed once again of the satisfaction of the kill. Two boney arms crush me against a buxom mass of sequins and glitter. Somehow, I manage to find enough air to howl my displeasure. My face is almost crushed against the side of the refrigerator as Kristen leans down to peer behind it.
“Oh God, Matt! Matt Matt Matt! There’s a mouse caught on the trap! Matt!” Out of the kitchen and through the living room we go, bouncing and running, everything below my shoulders dangling in a very undignified manner. I’m being jostled so much that I can’t get my claws up into her arm like I desperately wish to. Now we go into the bedroom, where Matt is getting up from his computer. Then back through the living room, following Matt, still dangling, and back into the kitchen. My shoulders are beginning to hurt from bearing all of my weight.
Matt pushes the refrigerator aside and gets down on his hands and knees. I can tell that Kristen is very anxious because her arms are slowly making it more difficult for me to breathe correctly. I try squirming out of her grasp, but she simply juggles me around to another, equally uncomfortable position.
“Well?” she asks, bouncing with nervousness. Matt has slid the trap out from behind the refrigerator, and is looking at it. The way he is poised over it, you could almost imagine he was some sort of furless, mutated cat.
“It’s not dead yet,” he says. Of course it’s not dead yet. It’s a square of sticky paper; hardly the deadliest of Man’s great creations. Again, I am bounced rapidly as Kristen whines in anxiety. Why won’t she let GO…
“Just get rid of it!” I have an idea: give it to the cat. Cats are quite good at getting rid of mice.
“I don’t want to just throw it out while it’s still alive…” Picking it up, he stands and turns around. The mouse, my erstwhile meal, is plastered to the paper, its whole side stuck down like some sort of macabre bas-relief. Its little chest is heaving, and it’s emitting so much fear that I can’t help but lick my lips. I finally manage to escape Kristen’s suffocating clutches and drop to the ground. I twine around Matt’s legs. Drop the trap. Drop it. Give it to me…
“Well just DO something with it! Get rid of it!” She holds the last word out for a few seconds and warbles with frustration and fright. Matt looks around the room.
“I dunno… like… we could smash its skull with a mallet…”
“MATT!”
“It’d be better than starving to death in the garbage!” But the brain is the best part! I stretch up and hook my claws into his jeans. Matt shakes me off.
“Stop it, Chase. This isn’t for you.” What! I’m the one who found it, you ingrate! Your poor little rodent would be withering away to death right now if it weren’t for me! Just let me have it!
“Aren’t mice allergic to chocolate?” Kristen asks. “Like dogs? Maybe we can just give it some chocolate…” I have to turn and stare up at her. You can’t be serious. You’re going to feed it. Amazing.
“I think that’s rats. Besides, we don’t know how much it would take to kill it. We could just make it really sick. And it may not eat anything we give it since it would smell like us.” Oh come on! You don’t want to torture the mouse, but you have no compunctions about torturing the cat with all this talk of food and feeding! He moves towards the stove and opens the oven door.
“What are you doing?” Yes, what are you doing, Matt? I hope you don’t plan on cooking it. I’d prefer it alive and juicy, thank you very much.
“I’m going to gas it… my neighbor caught a mouse in the oven once and killed it this way. It’s really kind of disturbing and creepy, but I can’t think of an easier death for the poor little guy.” Alright, fine, I promise to make it quick. I won’t play with my food. I make one last jump for the trap as Matt lowers it to the oven rack, but I’m pushed away. In goes the trap with the mouse stuck to it, the door slams shut, and Matt turns the knob. A slight hissing noise fills the room. I peer through the little window. The mouse soon begins to twitching rapidly. It spasms a few times, then lies still.
What a waste. What’s the point of having a cat if you’re going to put down traps and kill the mice yourself? My tail twitches in annoyance, but in the pit of my stomach I feel uneasy. This kind of death is unnatural. It’s not right, somehow. Nothing about this situation is right, come to think of it. This is not what nature intended when it designed sleek hunters, such as me, and small, crunchy, tasty treats, like that mouse.
“Oh God, take it out before it burns…” Kristen’s voice is hushed. Matt twists the knob back and opens the door. The smell of the gas turns my stomach so much that I lose my appetite. I mince quickly into the living room and up onto the armchair, curling around and watching the two humans through the doorway. Taking the mouse out of the oven, Matt peers at it closely.
“Well, it’s dead now.” He walks across the room, out of sight, and I hear the door open. There’s the sound of the garbage can lid being raised and dropped, then the door closes. “I feel sick.” Kristen scurries over to him and latches onto him, burying her face in his arm. “I think I’m going to pick up some humane traps tomorrow.” Humans… I lay down my head and close my eyes.
***
When I awake, I am still hungry. I can smell the canned, metallic-tasting mush sitting in my dish in the kitchen. It will have to do. I ooze down off the chair and make my way to my dishes. The food bowl tastes faintly of soap as I lick it clean.
Having satisfied my stomach, my box in the laundry room is my next stop. I do my business there, shake off my paws, and slink off to find a warm spot to lie in. About this time of day, the best place to go would be the sliding doors back in the kitchen. I curl up on the rug inside the doors and bask in the sun’s warm rays.
Outside, the wind blows the trees gently, making their branches sway back and forth hypnotically. I ponder the designs the wind creates in the leaves and the wide expanse of lush green grass, lost in the process of determining a pattern to the seemingly random array of curves. After an indeterminate amount of time, I feel myself approaching a conclusive order to the gusts of wind when a flurry of wings and brightly colored feathers drops into my view.
There, on my porch, stands an arrogant little robin. He jerks his head around, surveying his rest stop. As if his tiny speck of a brain could comprehend anything other than food and danger… The robin hops over to the trail of ants traveling from the garbage can next to the door to a tiny crack in the foundation on the other side. The ants scatter away from the shadow of the avian menace. Down comes the beak of the robin on an ant, and then another, and then another. The robin is soon hopping back and forth in front of the door, gobbling up as many of the insects as he can.
I, meanwhile, am furious. Not only does this bird mock me by totally ignoring me, but also he flaunts his hunt in front of me so soon after I am denied a kill. I stalk back and forth behind the door, following the damn bird, my haunches tight with the killer instinct. Gone are the thoughts of peaceful green waves. Now all I want to do is break this robin’s neck.
I need to find someone to let me out. I run out of the kitchen and through the living room, darting to the first door. I can smell fresh air, and hear the wind. Someone has left a window open! Into the room, up on the couch, over the plant, onto the shelf, and out the window I go. Jumping silently from the windowsill to the railing of the porch, I spot the robin, still mindlessly pecking away at the specks moving all over the porch. My body flows down off of the railing, and I stalk my prey from behind the garbage can. I coil, and wait.
As soon as the robin hops into range, I pounce. My body explodes from the crouch and rockets through the air towards my prey. Seeing me, the robin reacts, leaping into the air and spreading its wings. But it is too late; my claws are already hooked in its tender flesh. Its body is pinned beneath my paws, and I can feel its heart as it beats frantically along with the now-broken wings. Between the thrashing about and the anguished screeching, it takes me a moment to contain my quarry. The robin nearly gets away from me a few times, but I finally trap one useless wing beneath one paw and press down on its chest with the other. I lunge, and my teeth sink into its throat. It dies almost immediately, its blood flowing into my mouth and over my tongue for a few seconds before its heart stops beating.
I feel amazing. I have never felt so alive. I can feel every hair on my body tingling with excitement and sensation. Carrying the bird back behind the garbage can, I gnaw and nibble on it. I don’t get much meat off of it, but it feels so good to eat a fresh kill. After I finish with the bird, I lick its blood from my paws. Each drop intensifies my fervor. I run full out down off the porch and into the garden out of sheer exhilaration.
I hide beneath the flora and try to make sense of my racing thoughts. I can’t go back inside now. My tongue scrapes over my lips and I find new traces of blood. My hackles rise and I feel my haunches coiling involuntarily. I need to run and leap and hunt! Without any further contemplation, I rush off into the woods.
I dart between the trees and flow through bushes and undergrowth with barely any noise at all. A gully suddenly opens up before me. I leap across without any hesitation. Brambles choke the path before me. My lithe body avoids each and every thorn as I pass through. I am a mighty panther, absolute king of my domain, undisputed ruler of everything I survey.
I jump to the top of a fallen log, and my eyes fall on a monstrous beetle waddling along the rotting wood. Tremble, mortal, as I am your lord and master! You live and die by my whim! I swat at the beetle with a mighty swipe of my paw. The insect stops and braces itself, freezing in place. I bring my head down low and look it in the eyes. We lock gazes for what seems like ages. Finally, the beetle capitulates and turns away. I sit up smugly and watch it amble away. Wise move, beetle. Wise move.
The wind carries the scent of some rabbits nibbling at the grass a little ways away. I leap off the log and stalk closer to them. I wend my way through the undergrowth. My tail trails behind me, held low. Prowling close, I see two rabbits hiding in the tall swaying blades and shoots. My hunger is sated from my earlier meal and the robin, but I can’t help toy with these ignorant beasts. Taking my precious time, I pad closer and closer until I am practically on top of them.
The wind changes, and suddenly the rabbits smell me. In the time it takes them to raise their heads in alarm, I burst through the grass towards them. They scramble away, darting in differently directions. I deliberately give chase to the faster of the two. My surroundings are secondary to me now, a mere afterthought. All I see is the panicked form of the fleeing bunny. My eyes lock on to the cottontail and never waver.
I run until my breathing becomes heavy and labored. I slow to a stop and stretch out, flexing my claws and yawning wide. The rabbit disappears into the undergrowth with a rustle. Today, he has known mercy. Lucky for him, I have appeased my hunger for the day. He will live in sheer terror of the stalking, potent predator that pursued him today. Luckily, nature has taken pity on these weaklings and given them short memories. He will most likely forget me as soon as he finds something tasty to nibble on. As I regally groom the dust from my coat, I realize how late it is. I should return home before it gets dark. I begin to trot back home, making my way out of the woods.
…But, I say to myself, why go back? I stop short and sit, tail coiled around my feet as I ponder. There’s nothing for me at home. I can find my own meals. I need none of their human amenities. I am beyond domestication. I’ve gone feral. My place is to be on my own, now. Those two waiting in their safe little house are no use to me anymore. This is where I belong. Goodbye, Matt. You were tolerable. Goodbye, Kristen. Learn how to hold a cat. Hello, wonderful new life. I curl up beneath the roots of a tilted oak tree and fall asleep quickly.
***
By the time I awake, it’s beginning to get dark and my stomach feels empty again. I am unconcerned; it should be no trouble finding a meal out here in the wild. I prowl around a bit, sniffing the air and ground. The multitude of scents is a bit bewildering… I follow the scent of a chipmunk for a while, one that smells quite young. I recognize its scent from the cellar, as small animals frequently found their way in through the broken window. With some difficulty, I track it to a tree stump before I realize I am no longer following the scent of a small chipmunk, but rather a large hedgehog. I backtrack and try to find where one became the other, but I am completely turned around.
Giving up on the chipmunk, I find another, unfamiliar scent. It reminds me vaguely of rabbits, but smells bigger. It twists and twines around trees and underbrush for quite sometime. I am just about to give up in exasperation when I step into a pile of bloodied leaves and bones. Rabbit bones. I sniff at them for a moment in confusion, and then pick up the scent of something big and vaguely doggish going away from the carcass. I had not been following one trail, but two. I bat at the bones in frustration and then leapt on one as it rolls away. Some other creature dares hunt in my domain! Were I not so hungry, I would hunt the offender down and make him- I sniff again at the trail- make her pay for her trespass! My stomach rumbles again to remind me of just how hungry I am. Perhaps it would be better if I just sat here and waited for something to come by. I settle down beneath a bush and wait to pounce.
I wait. And wait. And wait and wait and wait. It becomes quite dark before I hear so much as a rustle. My stomach snarls at me to hurry up. Then the leaves on the forest floor begin to stir and crackle in intermittent spurts. I tense up, my hindquarters raised in the air. Finally… there’s no dog-thing to steal my meal from me this time. I can’t see it, but I can smell it- a prey animal, from the ever-present hint of fear- and I can hear it. I wait still longer, ignoring my aching stomach. Finally I can hear it land right in front of me. I uncoil and pounce…
…only to land on the biggest squirrel I’ve ever seen. The critter explodes into a frenzy of chattering teeth and claws and big bushy tails. I have no defenses against this whirling devil. I fight back as best I can, but I am totally bewildered by its speed. My soft, silky fur is ripped out in patches, my beautiful tail is bitten and bent, and my pride all but dies. I somehow get all of my feet beneath me and sprint away. Close behind me, the squirrel chatters and chitters angrily, staring at me with bulging demon eyes. I have to get escape! The gates of Hell have spewed this monstrosity into my woods!
I dart across a small clearing, and leap up the trunk of a small tree. Ah HA, devil-squirrel! You cannot pursue me anymore! I will regroup in the safety of the foliage and the wreak havoc upon you and your kind! I cling to the rough bark and peer down over my shoulder. There is no sign of the squirrel on the ground. Yes, that’s right, rodent! Fear me, for I am Chase, king of this land, and you have greatly angered me!
I look up as rustling moves the branches above me. And what’s this? A bird, most likely, and a nest! My stomach growls in praise of my choice of strategic retreat locales. I am just about to cautiously and carefully climb the tree further when the leaves part and the head of the devil-squirrel pokes through. There is a horrible moment in which his vacant, soulless orbs lock with my own. Time seems to freeze as two adversaries wait in tense silence.
Without warning, the squirrel launches itself at my face and latches on. I fall backwards off the tree trunk, spitting and flailing and twisting in the air. I claw and yowl at the demon. Its teeth are locked on my ear, and its nails are driven into my tender, handsome face. Proving the old adage wrong, I land on my side. The shock of the hard ground shakes the devil-squirrel loose. In a flash, I regain my footing and streak away, yowling and wailing all the way to my yard.
***
A few days later, I mope into the kitchen. I gaze gloomily at my empty bowl. Kristen must feed me by hand for now. I lie down awkwardly on the mat, the giant, stiff cone around my head making it difficult to find a comfortable position. The night of my exile from my domain by the demon, Kristen and Matt brought me to the vet. As if my shame were not great enough, they sought to punish me for leaving them. The veterinarian slid needles into my body, and painfully pulled at and stuck my battle wounds. Whatever he did makes them itch like mad, and I ache to gnaw at them and lick them clean.
My tail snaps in anger. I cannot even groom myself properly! Every night, I must be captured by Matt and battle him as he attempts to submerge me in the tub. It is such a vile experience I can barely stand to think of it. He doesn’t get away unscathed, though. His arms are bandaged quite well from the first time he tried to do it. Now he wears gloves and a heavy coat. At least I’m getting something good out of it, even if it is just Matt’s flesh. My eyes drift shut as I think of the vengeance I will wreak on their precious furniture when I am restored to full health.
A scrabbling on the gutters rousts me from my slumber. I lift my head to stare at the ceiling in confusion. The sounds are frantic-sounding and come in short bursts. Perhaps some addled pigeon has gotten stuck in the leaf-trap. The sound stops and there is a series of light thumps as something lands on the lid of the garbage can and then falls to the porch. Getting up eagerly, I peer out the edge of the door. Maybe I will get to watch something die slowly and horribly. Maybe a chipmunk tried to eat a screw or something and it’s choking to death on it! That would really make me feel better.
As if by magic, the devil-squirrel Himself appears from behind the garbage can. The sight of my mortal enemy so close to my holiest of Spots, my Warm Mat in the Kitchen, terrifies me beyond belief. I take off for the bedroom. The cone catches the air and makes it difficult to see or run straight. Two thick legs clad in denim come from nowhere, and I find myself tangled up in them briefly. I extricate myself and run into the bedroom. Behind me, there is a loud, floor-shaking crash. I hear Kristen cry “Matt! Are you alright!” and an answering groan, but I pay it no heed. I head for the space under the bed, between the extra comforter and the boxes of knick-knacks, where I can only hope to be safe from the demon.
I am suddenly brought up short as I try to dart beneath the box spring. The cone! The blasted cone prevents me from escape! Frantically, I run around the edge of the bed, trying to shove myself to safety. Nothing is working! I hear angry words from Matt in the living room. Oh no! The devil-squirrel must have found a way in, and Matt is foolishly trying to stop it! If I can’t defeat it, what hope does he have? In desperation, I turn around and back into the darkness. My cone still prevents me from true refuge! With a massive tug, my collar of shame pops past the metal frame of the bed.
Safety! Except… my head is stuck at a very uncomfortable elevation. I try to move it, but the cone is wedged tightly against the floor and the boxspring. I can’t even move back and forth much, as I am trapped between the comforter and the knick-knacks! I yowl in terror, thrashing about and ripping the comforter to pieces.
Through the thin dust ruffle, I see Matt and Kristen’s feet. The demon must have lost my trail and given up. Matt kneels and lifts the ruffle to peer in at me. He has to fumble with the silky fabric due to his bandages. His face is tight with annoyance as he takes me in. We stare at each other for a moment, me in terror, him in anger, before he looks up at Kristen.
“We should’ve gotten a dog.”
