(A/N: A short, true story. I wrote this for an assignment in Creative Writing.)

Prey by Ailsa Lillywhite

It was three o’clock in the morning when I finally came home from working a depressingly necessary eleven hour shift. I pulled the car as close to the curb as I possibly could and glanced up the driveway at the house filled to the brim with my sleeping family. If I woke my baby sister, there was no possibility of getting her back to sleep before dawn.

I dropped my purse twice on the way to the door. Exhaustion was taking over my usually excellent motor control and I uttered a few exasperated phrases and tried not to give in to the temptation of lying down right there on the stoop and closing my eyes.

Being tired finally took its ultimate toll when I opened the front door and was not quick enough to keep Mr. Tom Cat AKA “He Who Must Not Be Tamed” from escaping into the night in a streak of triumphant butterscotch stripes. I glared through the empty doorway and prepared mentally for the task of chasing down my errant cat. I tossed my purse into the dark house, shut the door and went after the bad cat.

He was strolling silkily from the driveway into the circular street of the cul-de-sac, perfectly aware that I was following him and very annoyed. He slowed to a stop, teasing me with his closeness before he tore several feet ahead with a merry chime of the bells around his neck.

I tried to be sweet, “Kitty boy… little sun king, come back in the house, please?” I trilled and he yowled back at me defiantly before his glittering green eyes turned away from my seething dark ones and he tore a swath up the sidewalk and through our neighbor’s unfortunate tulips.

“You are such a tease.” I growled at the wicked cat, after lunging for him and missing for the eighth time.

The chase progressed. I cooed, I coaxed, I got down on my tired hands and knees and followed him through our neighbor’s lawns and flower beds until he veered back around playfully and began to walk to my car.

“You can’t stay out here!” I pleaded with him hopelessly, no longer bothering to keep my voice down, “You’ll get lost without supervision.” Although I did not strictly know that this was true, I did know that my mother would not be pleased if I informed her that I accidentally let him out again when I got home late from work. In all honesty it was probably safer for him to be wandering around at three in the morning, than it was for me.

Though neutered, Tom was a stunning example of a feline in his prime. Out of the dozen cats in our neighborhood, he was the undisputed Alpha Male. I personally thought this just meant he was a mean old bully, but he wore his battle scars with pride, and flexed his oversized paws like each one was a small sun, with his gnarly, sharp claws as rays of light. We tried to clip those nails regularly, but Tom did not cooperate and I knew from experience that they were quite sharp.

”Please!” I finally begged as he sauntered around the front tire of my car. I had been following him for twenty minutes, attempting to grab him, but he never let me get close enough.

He looked at me, seemingly amused through those impossible, sea-green eyes. His tail lashed behind him, and his whisker’s twitched. He was enjoying the game.

I stared him down. It was war now, I was not going to leave him out here tonight to fight with other cats, dart past drunk drivers and come home smelling like asphalt. “Thomas…” I said sharply, preparing to lay down the law.

Before I could lunge for him again (and miss again, probably,) something caught the corner of my eye. Something soft and light, small as a mouse, but with wings that made it appear more powerful than it was. Before I could even gasp, Tom had leapt up into the air and caught a poor sparrow in midair in his jaws.

I watched in horror as he landed with a loud thud on the hood of my car, one of the sparrow’s wings was still struggling uselessly out of one side of Tom’s mouth.

“You horrid beast!” I shrieked, bolting to my car, where Tom remained holding the struggling bird in his closed mouth and looking perfectly feral and predatory. I clamped my hands around his face and tried to get him to open his mouth. He growled, while the bird twittered in fear. “Let it go!” I hissed, looking Tom straight in the eye.

For a second that seemed like much too long, we regarded each other as intelligent predators. I could see the rage sparkling through his beautiful green eyes, his whole soul was burning with indignation that I would dare interrupt his hunt. At the time I imagined that I must have looked like a very stupid sort of predator who cannot even get my own food, so I have to steal from more adept hunters.

“Let the poor thing go!” I said to him again, still trying to pull his deadly jaws open myself. The bird was still struggling, still alive, only because I had interfered. Resentfully, Tom finally stopped trying to get away from me. He opened his mouth and let the bird fly away, then he jumped off the car as I ran after the little sparrow to make sure it was not hurt.

I followed the bird down the sidewalk as it fumbled unsteadily in the air, before it straightened out and fluttered far away. I watched the little creature until it was nothing more than a faint glimmer in the sky and then blackness. I let a single tear fall past my chin and then I laughed.

Tom mewled and glared up at me from my ankles, but then he pressed his forehead against me as a sign of forgiveness for ruining his violent fun. In one instant all was forgotten. He had gone from being a snarling, possessed hunter to my familiar, sweet, loving lap-cat. I reached down and gathered the fat, ginger boy into my arms and he purred and kneaded like a kitten all the way home.