Charlie was past ravenous. His rib cages lined the sides of his belly with each painful breath. A pack of stray dogs had chased him out of his usual quarters. Their ferocious snarls still resonated in his ears, making him tremble.
The food had been succulent in that neighbourhood; so many gourmet dishes wasted. His mouth watered at the thought. He closed his eyes for a moment before refocusing his attention on his surroundings. Staying in the shadows, he tiptoed into another street, another unknown.
He had to keep moving; He didn’t have the luxury of reminiscence.
Thinking of that street or the warm, sweet-smelling house before that, remembering the love, comfort, safety wouldn’t do him any good.
That was then. This is now.
When a car door slammed, he jumped and hid behind a wall, waiting for his breath to ease back to normal.
He hated change.
He hated living on the streets.
Charlie browsed through the line of houses on the opposite side of the road. What he needed was a quiet, safe corner to settle.
There was a neglected house with a broken door. He advanced towards it, his muscles tense, sniffing the air for danger, ears pricked. The hole was just wide enough for him to squeeze through.
Charlie wandered through the abandoned building, checking each room.
It was empty.
There was an old box in one bedroom. It was big enough if he curled up. It would do for now.
Before settling in for the night, he went on a round to find some food. A half-closed garbage can revealed some leftover meat. It smelled a little spicy for his taste, but it would do.
His meal over, Charlie settled in the box to rest until morning.
The birds roused him. At first confused, the events of the previous days came back to him in a rush of vivid images. He growled, stretched his slim body, yawned, gave himself a sponge bath, and prepared to go hunt for food.
In the front room, the sun illuminated a small round object he had missed the previous day. Food could wait. Charlie ran to it, jumped on it, slapped it, purring with excitement.
What kitten could resist a ball of yarn begging to be unravelled?
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DELPHINE GAUTHIER-GEORGAKOPOULOS is a Breton writer, teacher, mother, nature and music lover, foodie, dreamer. She loves butter, needs coffee, hates easy opening packaging, and likes to create stories in her head. She lives in Athens, Greece. X/Facebook: @DelGeo14.
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