The ancient cat, Tom, was hungry. It had not been fed for four days, ever since the owner had left unexpectedly, forgot to leave open a window, and never returned. Trapped in the small house, it lay sprawled on the kitchen counter beside the sink, basking in the warm sunlight that streamed through the locked windows, rising rarely and only to satisfy its thirst on the gleaming droplets that leaked from the faucet.

It had given up on wailing its misery a day ago, when it had seen no answer to its plight for no neighbour or passer-by had come to its rescue and the bar covered and alarm bugged windows and doors still remained locked to its clawing, kicks, and head butts.

Now, it lay in a lethargic daze, its fur dry and thin, its partially blind eyes half-closed. It was tired and exhausted and it saw no purpose in expending more energy in useless attempts to seek help at the cost of what might soon be a life or death situation for itself.

At least, that was its thought until quite suddenly, in the midst of its doze and despairing thoughts, it heard a soft creak in the roof. Its eyes flicked open and it listened carefully for a few moments. The mouse, or whatever it was, was heading towards the ceiling trapdoor.

The cat rolled over and rose to jump down from the counter to the tiles where it padded out of the kitchen and in pursuit of the sounds. Movement meant life and life meant food. And food meant no more hunger.

A crash and the sound of splintering glass ahead of it in the passageway beneath the trapdoor signalled that the intruder had already entered and, more fortunately, injured itself on the glass table that lay beneath the trapdoor. The cat cautiously slipped into the passageway and over to the limp body. As it neared it, beneath its paws, it felt warm liquid amidst the shards of glass that lay scattered on the floor. Wounded? It sniffed at the liquid. Its sense of smell was poor, almost as poor as its sight, so it couldn’t be sure if it was blood, so it lapped experimentally at it with its tongue.

Ah, excellent! Triumphant, the cat crept over to the body, which appeared to belong to a human – assumedly one of those worthless burgulars that was frequently cursed by its owner – and after a quick inspection, soon found the open wound – a great gash in a flank and bleeding heavily. Even the flesh was exposed.

The cat jumped on top of the body and stood above of the wound where it was relatively more dry, then lay down, the gash between its paws, and took a great bite of the warm, moist flesh. Ahhh, delicious! Truly delicious.

The cat ate and ate, fulfilling its pent up hunger and then stuffing itself some more, unknowingly mimicking the eating talents of its larger relatives in lands alien to itself and never seen to its owner.

As it was tearing off what would be its last mouthful, it suddenly felt the body stir, the weak pulse suddenly, for a few brief moments, no barrier to the human’s desire to speak.

“I forgot my keys, Tom,” the human whispered.

The cat, eyes wide, dropped its mouthful.

Two weeks later, the smell of two corpses alerted the neighbours, at last, to the unhappy state of affairs.