Mother Cat closed her eyes. She rested her small brown paws beneath her heaving chest and curled her tail tightly around her haunches. She would wait inside the hedge to let her heart slow, for she'd run as far as she was able. Her body twitched when cold dew dripped into her pelt. She regretted this trip to the Green to hunt, but she knew she had no choice. The alley offered no prey. She had to eat. You can't feed kits without eating. Kits! The fullness in her teats told her they were hungry.

Her breathing slowed at last, Mother Cat crawled deeper into the bush and out the other side, looking wide-eyed in all directions. Good. No ghostdog. Creeping low to the ground, and close to the foliage for protection, she scanned the terrain again. At last she felt confident she could cross the expanse of grass between the hedgerow and the safety of the trees. The rumble-road lay beyond. Her kits waited in the alley on the far side of the road. Soon she would be warming them, safe in their nest, nursing them with a full belly.

Mother Cat sprinted from the bush toward the trees. She was almost beneath their branches when the coyote stepped from behind a wide trunk, his eyes gleaming red in the dark. She yowled and veered right. A second ghostdog emerged from the shadows and blocked her way. Panic! Wheeling around mid-stride, she raced back toward the hedge. She never saw the third dog. He leaped from the night and snapped her neck before she turned her head. Death was quick and merciful.

The alpha ghostdog scooped up a longear he had killed earlier. Prey in mouth, he led his pack east, back to the gorge from which they came. They trotted single file behind their leader, the prize of their hunt swinging from their jaws. When they reached the path leading down to the gulch, he stepped aside and let the others pass. Nodding respectfully, they descended the steep slope to their den and the pups waiting for a meal. When the tangle of weeds hid their passage, the ghostdog placed his kill almost tenderly on the ground, on the canyon rim, and sat. He howled, lifting his head to the millions of stars strewn across the black sky. Thank you, Dog Father, for this food. We honor and obey. He took his prey and slipped into the ravine. Like smoke in a breeze, he was gone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"What is it, Red? What do you want?" The woman rocked on the balls of her feet, running one hand over the tomcat's bony spine, lifting his chin with the other to tickle his pale orange throat. Once the proud bearer of a deep russet pelt, the years that had taken the muscles from his frame had also bleached his fur. He rubbed his head against her knee, then stared at her, mewling with purpose. His raised tail quivered like the discharge from a Tesla coil.

"You want to go out, buddy? It's getting late." He'd been outside all day, despite intermittent rain, returning only moments earlier to gulp his food, and now asked to leave again. Something was afoot. He padded to the door and looked back at her with a raspy meow.

"OK, Red, but not for long. I want you home by dark." She opened the door wide enough for him to pass into the early evening, magic hour, when the falling sun bathed the world in colored light. But tonight was already dark, as mountains of gray clouds piled above them, flinging random drops of water. Red went only to the edge of the porch, turned, and meowed. She tried to close the door, but he darted back, sticking his head inside like an aggressive salesman.

"What is it, baby?" Red whined in cat. "Honey?" She called down the hallway.

"What?" a man's voice answered from the back of the house in a tone that told her he was busy.

"Red's acting weird. He wants something."

"Told you he'd be a pest if you let him go outside."

"No, he wants something."

"Yeah, to chase the neighbor's dog…and the local females."

"He's fixed!"

"I know that…but does he?"

"You only chased that one mean doberman, right? And you won't do that anymore, will you?" She whispered, caressing his serrated back, as she had done for so many years, years in which the pelt grew thick over powerful muscles, and his skin felt taut beneath her fingers. She had loved to rub his back. She loved to still, although now she caressed each bone, and sometimes he moved away from her hand, his skin alive with a million jangling nerves. Whenever he sidestepped her touch, he licked her, and told her why with his eyes.

She loved him when she met him, and loved him now, and he had learned to love her with unflagging loyalty, generosity and warmth, without reserve or judgment, never counting her foibles or faults, never condemning, to the point that she found herself striving to become the person he believed her to be. They had both grown older, and he'd grown older still, and she loved him more than ever knowing the time of their friendship would soon come to an end. Her palm resting absently on his head, Red whined, and pushed with urgency against her leg.

"Honey, I'm going with him. He wants to show me something."

"I'm feeding the ferals. Call if you need my help." her husband yelled from the back porch.

"OK." She followed her beloved tom out the door. Red padded ahead, stopping frequently at first to assure himself she kept his pace. He led her down several blocks, then turned right. What am I doing, she thought. This is crazy. She paused and Red dashed back to her, mewling earnestly for her to come. She did. They covered another two blocks before he entered an alley. He waited within the narrow passageway for her to reach him.

The sun dropped below the horizon and the rain-heavy clouds seemed to grow darker still. I should have worn a jacket and brought my flashlight, she chided herself as wind whipped against her thin clothing. She wrapped her arms across her chest, and hugged her body. She could barely see Red ahead of her now, padding down the pitted asphalt, turning his head and yowling for her to hurry. The storm gained strength. Branch cracked against branch and drops splattered like drums on the roofs and windows around them.

Red stopped. Staring straight ahead, he rolled his ears toward a sound. She heard it too. A faint mewing, frightened and weak. A scrap of rust colored fur dashed under the dumpster at the end of the alley. Red turned and found her gaze, his eyes wide and anxious. She picked him up.

"I understand, good boy. Yes, we'll help them," she whispered into his ear. Clutching the old tom close to her heart, she ran home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Three kittens huddled for warmth on the asphalt beneath the dumpster they shared with roaches, rats, and a nest of black widow spiders. Hiding from predators and rain, they waited for their milk mother to return. She'd been gone for two nights and their bellies ached with hunger, more than hunger; the babies hung close to death from malnourishment. Exhausted from calling out for such a long time, they no longer cried louder than a whimper or a mew. The small female lay motionless in the filth and debris. She would not survive another night of cold without a milk feeding. Her brothers curled on either side to warm her.

They had been toddling for a week, but they were far from being able to find their own food. The feral queen still nursed them. Where was she? The sun had set, taking its flimsy warmth, and the shadows around them had grown deep and chill.

Tires crunched the gravel of the alleyway. Doors slammed and footsteps echoed in their nest. Lights danced on the ground and the sound of something heavy scraping across pavement tortured their ears. Two tiny faces peeked from under the dumpster's edge, hoping to see their mother. What they saw instead terrified them and they scurried back to their sister, trembling with fear.

The smell of fish flooded their mouths. The boys dashed toward it despite their worries, and discovered the odor wafted from outside the protection of their dumpster's roof, at the end of a small room with pale walls. Its ceiling made of strange crisscrossing sticks, the enclosure was simply, suddenly there, offering the most precious of gifts: food. Clean and warm, unlike their home, the strangeness didn't matter; they needed to eat!

The brave orange tiger crept inside. The tuxedo male returned to their sister, nudging her with his head until she rose and tottered with him into the room holding the food. They lapped at the watery fish mush, filling their empty bellies as fast as they could. Hunger dampened their manners, and they growled at each other with sudden swipes of their paws when their heads bumped in the bowl.

Busily slurping up their meal, they didn't notice the human hand that moved carefully toward the metal rod, slipping it into a groove, releasing a spring with a sharp twang. They lifted their small faces from their food as a door closed behind them. Trapped!