On the loose
The poor of the city where almost always left alone. It seemed rather pointless to bother the poor, when all they had left were time. So why would anyone bother to waste their own time wasting someone else's time, when that someone only has time left. Such shallow thoughts would whir through the scruffy dog's head as it ran through the empty alley from the incoherent yells of the dirty old vagrant with the said beggar's dinner. It seems as though the dog had time to waste anyway. After a while, the chicken leg became too tempting for the runt to keep it, secure but not punctured, in its mouth as its gallop slowed to a stroll out of the alley and onto a street. Arattling moving van crept up **** like a huge green slug, it was driven by the beggar, or a man that looked like a beggar. The mutt paid it no mind, and kept running, by now the street gave way to a cross road, and as the sun sets, the road leads to a pair of iron gates of the big park. There were many other little parks around the city, but this one was the best at night.
Strolling alone on the grass adjacent the cement pathways, out of the way of people, but still on a certain path, the lights of the park lit one by one as the worn out mongrel walked proudly; a meal secured, and the excitement of the day pounding in his veins.
Passing the big tree near the entrance, about fifty yards from the entrance, **** stops, ears perked as he looked about for a minute, then drops the bone and meat into the ground under a bench. It was definitely dark now with the faded yellow and oranges hidden through the buildings that surrounded the big park, and looking past the lit lamp posts, one could see the dark sky, with the occasional star – or more likely helicopter – that almost shone as bright as the full moon. The cool spring breeze swooped low under the wooden bench and flittered through the dirt and flea filled fur of the dog as he lay to wait for sleep, but shifting his bright little gaze to movement that his acute sense of hearing could pick up from the big tree above. His bony tail flipped from left to right on the concrete from his place on the grass, facing the tree with his back to the path. An instinct drove the dog, wanting above want to bark up the tree, curious to what the noise was all about, but he had far more important matters to attend to, so he shifts and lies for rest.
On the other side of the park, with similar iron gates, a dainty white cat, with a distinct red collar jumps out of a green van, and struts in using the cement path that wound through trees and the occasional park bench. Her thin body seemed to move with the grace of the wind, left and right as each paw would cross with every stride. The bright lights shinning through the lamp posts seem to reflect off the smoothed down white fur of the feline as it glided through the park, with the tail held in the air being the only sign of the cat's alertness. A dozen strides behind the cat was the yelling beggar, carrying a long metal pole with a rope net at the end of it. Every few trees, the beggar would glance about; muttering in a low voice; "****". With no response, he would continue again, seemingly following the cat through the park. The man was wrapped in what appeared to be multiple layers of unnecessary clothing; a grey sweater, a green wind breaker, and a thick leather jacket – and whatever else was unseen beneath those – over dirty, ripped, denim pants. The only thing on the man that was unusually new were his brown leather hiking boots, but other than those, he looked very much a homeless person.
"****? Where are you, you strange mutt?" The man said to no one in particular. The cat he was following stopped, and sat on the ground, two feet away from a park bench. The dog beneath this bench had felt the movement. He placed his teeth on the meal he had just resting in front of his nose and bit into it, tail still and cautious as he shifted forward from under the bench.
"****? Are you there?"
Hearing his name, the dog scrambles up, meal in mouth, and ran. He could never go back to that pound, he belonged out here in the concrete jungle. Stealing scraps from suspicious looking boxes and sleeping in the park.
The cat bolted, bounding off the path and after the wayward runaway, with the man running after them. **** ran through the iron gates, and across the road, his tongue lolling out through the space of his teeth and chicken leg, and through the familiar street he ran not long ago. The cat streaked through the road, just as the dog had, but was missed by mere seconds by the 102 night bus. The man had no choice but to wait for the traffic to stop; he trusted his cat to find the mongrel, but was truly burdened by his inability to run like they did.
By now, the scruffy old dog was back in the same alley way, and had stopped in front of the high metal fence, meal still between his teeth. The dainty cat too had stopped, but a fair distance away from him, confident now that **** had no where to go. The cat was smaller than him, it could have been an easy fight, if it were not for the glistening sharp claws at the end of the cat's white paws. The cat closed in hissing as **** growled, low and cautiously, knowing his predicament, and soon a looming shadow of the man closed in to, net in hand and ready to catch him. By some chance, a distant siren wailed through the street off the alley that caught the cat and the man's attention, leaving just a fraction of a second for the cowering hound to scramble to his tired paws and run for it through legs and the garbage cans at the side of the alley. Leaving his saved meal on the dirty ground; a scarifies for freedom.