“What is it, Red? What do you want?” the woman asked her large, aged tom. They stood in the hallway; the cat stared at her, and mewled with purpose. His thick tail straight up, quivered like a pole discharging electric current. “You want to go out, buddy? It's getting late,” she said. He'd been outside all day and had returned only moments earlier. He'd gulped his food like an underfed prisoner and now asked to leave again. Something was wrong. He rubbed against her leg and padded to the door. “OK, Red, but not for long. I want you home when it's dark.” She opened the door wide enough for him to pass into the early evening, the twilight hour, the enchantment of a world bathed in colored light before it all went dark. This evening, however, was already dark. Mountains of gray clouds had been scudding across the sky all morning. Red went only to the edge of the porch, turned, and called to her in a plaintive voice. She tried to close the door, but he darted back and placed himself in the way. “What is it, baby?” she cooed. Red meowed with urgency.

“Honey?” she called to her husband.

“What?” a man's voice answered from the back of the house, his tone implying he didn't wish to be disturbed.

“Red's acting weird. He wants something. I can't figure out what.”

“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 cooed to the big tom, bending down and caressing his wide back. Red whined louder, and pushed his head against her leg.

“Honey, I'm going with him. He wants me to go somewhere with him.”

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

“OK,” she said, and followed her beloved cat out the door. Red padded ahead, stopping every few moments to assure she kept his pace. He led her down several blocks, then turned right. They covered another two blocks before he entered an alley. He waited just within the narrow passageway for her to reach him.

The sun set shortly after they left and a gathering of storm clouds made the sky darker still. I should have worn a jacket and brought my flashlight, she chided herself as the wind whipped against her, cold and heavy with moisture. She wrapped her arms across her chest, pulling her flimsy sweater closer to her body. She could barely see Red ahead of her now, padding down the asphalt, frequently turning his head and yowling for her to hurry. The storm gained strength. The wind cracked branch against branch and large drops of rain splattered like drum rolls on the roofs and windows around them. Red stopped and stared straight ahead. She heard it too. A faint mewing, frightened and weak. A scrap of rust colored fur dashed beneath the dumpster at the end of the alleyway. Red turned and found her gaze, his eyes wide and anxious. She picked him up and whispered in his ear.

“I understand, good boy. Yes, we'll help them.” Big Red clutched tightly in her arms, 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 the one who birthed and nourished them. What they saw 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!