Page 26 of Rescued By the Beast
Walking the streets like a cat is not as simple as it seems.
I need to stay away from humans at all costs. I can't risk being discovered by someone who will take me to a vet. The last thing I need right now is to be spayed or, worse, end up in a shelter, running the risk of being put down because no one will adopt me.
I move through the shadows, nimbly jumping over walls. When I finally see his house, I feel a glimmer of hope. I run around the property, peering into the windows. Everything seems empty. The silence is overwhelming.
I climb up to the front door and jump, using my paws to try to reach the doorbell. The sound echoes. Nothing.
I whimper, but the response is the same silence. My stomach contracts in painful protest, and my vision begins to darken at the edges. I can't stay here. I need to eat something before I pass out.
With a heavy heart, I leave the house and wander the streets again, trying to remember places where I might find food. After a while, I come across a restaurant. The smell of grease and spices fills my nostrils, and my mouth waters.
I approach the alley, where I know there are leftovers, and with luck, I can sneak inside and steal something from the kitchen. The back door creaks open, and an employee comes out carrying a rubbish bag.
Hope grows in my chest. Maybe he will take pity on a hungry kitten and offer me some food. However, when his eyes meet mine, they narrow with contempt. Then the man lunges forward in a sudden movement, already raising his foot to kick.
"Go away," he shouts, his voice thick with irritation. "I've got nothing for you."
My body stiffens for a second, but my instinct reacts before I do. I jump back just as his foot passes a few centimetres from my body.
Without wasting any time, I dash away, my paws barely touching the ground.
What a despicable human. Some are worse than monsters.
I wander the streets, passing buildings and houses. I try my luck at another establishment, but I see two employees smoking and chatting at the back entrance and give up. My stomach hurts, a deep pain that makes me wonder how much longer I can go on like this.Then I notice a house with a little pet door.
I take a chance. I stop at the threshold, sniffing the air. The smell of dog is present, but faint. To live inside a house without a yard, it must be a small to medium-sized animal. I sneak in, my paws making almost no noise on the floor.
The kitchen is silent. I climb up to the counter, but there is nothing within my reach: no fruit, no food left out, nothing I can grab in this form. I swallow hard. I look at the digital clock on the microwave: almost seven o'clock in the evening. It's been almost fourteen hours since my last meal.
I return to the living room, where I spotted two bowls near the wall. One of food and one of water. I hesitate as I approach. The smell of the food isn't exactly tempting, but hunger is worse. My stomach tightens. Hunger leaves no room for pride. I approach the food bowl, already bending down to pick up a single kibble with my teeth.
Then I hear it.
A low growl coming from the stairs. My heart races. I look up and see the dog. He is much bigger than I expected. His paws thud heavily on the steps as he descends, teeth bared, barking.
I don't have time to think. I run towards the door and jump over the fence into the street.
My mind is racing.
How stupid of me to leave Luther's house. I should have stayed there, waiting for him to return from wherever he had gone.
I couldn't find anything to eat on the street and wasted more time than I thought I would. By now he must be getting ready for work, if he hasn't already left to pick me up as agreed.
My weakness almost consumes me as I run, trying to find my bearings. The streets become more deserted as I move forward. I turn a corner, thinking I'm going around the block, but the path leads to a dark, dead-end alley.
I stop immediately, my body hunched over, my senses on alert.
"Help..." a female voice sounds from deep within.
I look in the direction of the sound, a feeling of discomfort creeping up my spine, my hair standing on end.
I take a few hesitant steps forward, sniffing the air.
Something is very wrong here.
The smell of blood is like bait. I know I shouldn't follow it, I can't help being trapped in this form.
My instincts scream to turn back, but curiosity has always been my weakness. I approach, the smell of blood mingling with the sickening stench of rubbish and rot, a combination that seems to corrode the air.
