Sour Roses... by Feath MacKirin I licked my wounds and pretended it didn't hurt. But it did, it hurt bad. I'm tired of getting beat up by every rat that comes along, all of them larger than me. Sure, I'm small for my age, but that was just poor diet. Not much growth potential from stale bread out of garbage cans. I'm a tough guy, yeah, and I have the scars to prove it. I'm still alive, and after a year on the streets, that's saying something. But I was tired of cold stone and colder hearts. Sitting on a bench one winter afternoon, I watched the birds hunting worms in the park. My coat was thick but it wasn't enough to keep out the chill rising from the ground. I wondered if I could catch one of those birds, I was that hungry. But the poor diet and the cold were getting to me. I was too stiff; I couldn't pull it off. If something didn't happen soon, I didn't think I could make it through the winter. I was thinking that when the angel came. I kept an eye on her, oh, not directly, you don't want an angel to notice you watching. But still, I watched her every move. She sat down on a bench across the way, just out of my danger zone. She pulled something out of a bag and started eating. I could smell tuna fish on the light breeze and it just about drove me crazy. What is it that tells you this is the one? Every person I had ever met either kicked me or yelled at me. But somehow, I just knew this one wouldn't. This one was an angel. This one was _my_ angel. But what would happen if I was wrong? I didn't have the strength any more; I couldn't get away if she tried to hit me. I think if she hit me, I would just die. If I'd had the energy, I would have laughed. I was dying anyway. What is it that tells you this is the one? She smelled good. I could smell her all the way over where I sat. Her eye was calm and her hand steady. She didn't look at me. That's good, I like that. It was smart, but I bet she watched me out of the corner of her eye, like I watched her. But you know, I think the thing that made me do it was that tuna. The smell of tuna went right to my back brain, and got me up, and walked me over, and sat me down next to her. I must have been crazy. What if I was wrong and she wasn't my angel? I was right. She gave me part of the tuna, and I wolfed it down without breathing. Then, so help me, she _pulled out another sandwich_. She was a Goddess. And she gave me another half. Yeah, I was crazy, I had to be. Starving crazy, otherwise, I could never have done it. I climbed onto her lap. Hey , I didn't let her carry me home. I walked, I'm not a cripple. A cat has his pride. # I let her know, right off, I don't purr. Purring is for mothers and kits. I allowed her to help me with the mites in my ears but I drew the line at the burrs in my undercoat. There are some places even angels shouldn't touch and my belly is one of them. I was right about the diet. After eating good food for a few months, I filled out a bit. My neck thickened and my claws stopped chipping. My angel and I got along fine, except for that one small incident. I must have made my angel mad, 'cause she took me to a house with sick cats and then left me. What had I done to deserve this? The man there had nice hands, but he did unspeakable things to me. I was spitting mad and I planned my revenge carefully. Only she came back and took me home before I could do it. I had trouble peeing for days, I was sore, and I may have gotten a little irritable. I apologized for the scratches, and she accepted, so we were square. # I was in the big room, stretched out in the best sunny spot. I'd had too many cold times, so I usually hunted out the warmest spot in the place and claimed it. I was surprised when my angel joined me, but there was room enough, so I let her. She picked me up and put me on her chest. As a rule I would object to that, but I was sun sleepy so she got away with it. She rubbed my good ear as she talked and I dozed, her voice a rumble under my chest. I sighed -- for the first time in I don't know how long, I felt warm and safe. I made a vow: I will never go out side again. That night I remembered how to play. Understand, we don't talk about this, 'cause play isn't dignified for a grown cat. Sure, it's okay for a kit to do stuff like this, but if it ever got around that _I_ did it -- well; I can get clumsy around your valuable breakables, if you catch my meaning? My angel was fluffing up her nest, throwing the blankets up, letting them settle, throwing them up -- it made no sense, but it seemed to occupy her time harmlessly, so I let her do it. I thought she was done and jumped into the nest. The blanket settled down over me, and suddenly I remembered. I remembered when I was a kit with my litter mates, we would play a game. 'Whisker flicker, where's the mouse?' When it was my turn to be mouse, I usually hid in the pile of wood, but I could have picked anywhere...in the hay, or the fields, or in with the horses. As the 'mouse' I made little noises, scratching and squeaking. If one of the others found me, the chase would be on. It was great fun, and some of the chases to 'catch the mouse' could get pretty tumbled. So when that blanket settled over me, I was the 'mouse' again. I heard my angel give that flat-ended hissy sound, laughing I guess, and I felt her fingers run over my back through the blanket. Found already! But two could play at that game, and I whipped over on my back, grabbed her hand, and tried to disembowel it. Of course, the blanket kept my claws from actually getting her. It was just play. She took the blanket off me, and I sat up, trying to look dignified. She'd won, fair too. She must have known the game, 'cause she stuck her hand under the blanket, and made a scratchy noise. Instantly, I felt my whiskers spread in delight. I pounced. # Every morning, I would wake her when the sun came up. I would sit on her chest and rub my nose under her chin. I noticed this was usually more effective when I licked my nose first. So, after alerting her to the new day, I would ask politely to be fed. Sometimes this was done with grace but usually she tripped on me. I forgave her, 'cause she was a wizard with getting cans open. Anyway, once I was fed, I didn't care what she did. I would follow her around, just to see what she would get up to next. Like deliberately get wet. Even angels are weird sometimes. The first time I noticed something different was when I was waking her up one morning. Her breath smelled stale. She didn't want to wake, and I ended up sticking my nose in her ear and rumbling an inquiry. That got her up, but she moved stiffly. I had to reminder her again I wanted food. I kept a close eye on her for a couple of days after that. Normally, I liked to sit on top of the humming box in the food room. It was warm there, I got a good view, and it was close to the tuna. But for the next couple of days, I followed her around like a five week old kit. She couldn't visit the sand box without my watching. When she was lying in her nest, I would climb onto her chest, and let her rub my ears. The tattered one didn't hurt any more, so that was okay, but if she forgot, and rubbed my underside, I had to remind her of her manners. I was chasing flies one day when my angel's friend came over. He came over every once in a while, but I usually ignored him. Personally, I don't know what she sees in him. He always smells dusty. He must have thought that I had mellowed, seeing me chasing flies, cause he put out his hand and tried to touch me. Well, I gave him his hand back, but he had to fight for it. That evening after the dusty man left, my angel and I were both on the long cushion, in the big room. I was dozing and she was watching the moving box, when I realized she was trembling. Not purring, nor that hissy-laugh thing she sometimes did. And it definitely wasn't the mewing distress call she did every once in a while. No, this was something new. I sat up and looked at her. She didn't seem to be aware of it. She continued to watch the box. I stretched up and sniffed her breath. It was wrong again, like that morning when she didn't want to wake up. I poked my nose into one of her nostrils, trying to get a claw on the matter. She didn't even blink, which I thought a little strange. I swiveled my ears forward to get a better direction on it but the trembling seemed to be coming from every part of her. I didn't understand. It slowly faded away, and it left me staring at her in squinty-eyed confusion. But nothing more happened and I started to doze off. Still, I kept an ear open, just in case. # It was a long time before anything happened again. She was lying on the long cushion when I noticed her breath change. Between one breath and the next, it was that quick. I stopped licking my shoulder and twitched my ears; I could hear the tremors starting. Her eyes were open and staring, but it didn't seem like she was looking at anything. I reached up with my nose, whiskers spread as wide as possible, and sniffed her everywhere. Her skin had a trace of an unusual scent. Like...roses. I knew roses, sweet and warm. But it was slightly sour, like a rain puddle that didn't dry out. Around her face, I felt a faint electrical charge. I twitched it off my whiskers, just to feel it build up again. I felt the hair on my back raise. My angel was hurt. Just as quickly as it started, it ended. She yawned, stretched, and headed for her nest. I followed closely, but she fell asleep normally and there was no trouble waking her up the next morning. After that I watched her like a mouse trail. I noticed sometimes she dropped things. Or she would just stare at the moving box, not blinking. She always smelled like sour roses then, and sometimes my whiskers would snap from the electrical charge she gave off. # Things went normal for a long time, I thought she wasn't going to do it again and I got lazy. I was on the humming box, sleeping. Even my ear wasn't cocked for the stray noise, when suddenly there was a crash. Jerking awake, I looked around and found my angel on the floor, twitching. I jumped down and ran over to her. The smell hit me first, the scent of sour roses overwhelming. She was shuddering hard; her limbs twitching like mine do when I'm dreaming I'm back on the street. I couldn't think what to do...so I sat on her. When she woke up this time, she knew something was wrong, I could tell. She lay there a long time on the floor, petting me. I let her, 'cause I knew she was upset. She was making those mewing distress calls. I rubbed noses to let her know I was there. She didn't want to let go of me for a long time after that. She would carry me from room to room. I didn't mind so much, except sometimes I had to wait for her to fall asleep before I could get to the sand box. I would go right back to her afterward though. Hey, she needed me. She was my angel. I wished I could open cans, so I could get her some tuna. She wasn't eating enough, and I had to push her to get up and feed me. It was like she just didn't care anymore. My angel was hurt bad. # Things settled down for a while. Dusty man came over more frequently, sometimes bringing food. And my angel did start eating a little more, but something seemed to be missing from her. She wasn't grooming herself very much. She stayed home more too. Which was nice, you understand, but it got a little confining. A guy couldn't sharpen his claws without her jumping all over him. The rain storms started coming along at that time. Great lightning and thunder displays that had me hiding prudently under the nest. Look, I had been out there in that stuff before, every hair in my body would get charged up; it hurt to clean myself, you know what I'm saying here? The more things between lightning storms and me, the less I had to worry about touching something with my wet nose. That night was a bad storm and I was under the nest. I heard my angel open the humming box. Now, I was in a real dilemma. But it wasn't until a stray breeze from an open window wafted her scent over to me, that I bolted out from under the nest. My angel was in the food room, using her sharp stick to cut up something. What if she fell down again? What if she fell down again, on her sharp stick? I jumped up on the counter -- a big bad thing -- and batted at her hand. She batted back, and pushed me off the counter. Now what? The smell was getting worse and my whiskers were starting to twitch. There was one thing that always suckered _me_ into another room. That was 'where's the mouse?' Could I sucker her into it? I ran into the big room and stuck my claws under the long cushion. I gave a loud yowl to get her attention then pretended to 'get the mouse.' It worked! She put down her sharp stick and with questioning noises, came after me. I really dug in, lifting my rump, even stuck my tail up like a kit, pretending there was something under there. She knelt and stuck her head down, to see what I was after. Just in time too. She only had a bit to fall. She fell on her side, shaking. She started to drool. That was possibly a bad thing. I curled up under her chin. Maybe she would feel me there and not be scared. When she woke up, she looked at me for a long time. I'm not sure why. She seemed okay, but sometimes she was slow when she first came around. I butted my head under her hand, so she would pet me. Petting me always soothed her. It's not that I needed soothing, lets get that straight here. I may have been off the street for a while, but I was still one harsh cat. Tough guys don't need soothing. Don't forget that, and there won't be trouble. It was after that we seemed to start understanding each other. When I smelled sour roses, I would play 'get the mouse'. She would come and lie on the floor, have her bad time and get on with life. It was something that worked, and we got it down to a fine routine. She started eating right again. She started grooming herself better, and I got tuna a little bit more, so that was good. # I don't know what happened. I was in the sand box. Look, a guy can't be rushed in things like that. When you gotta go, you gotta go, and there's nothing in mouse heaven that can stop it. I felt the thump, more than heard it. I never did smell the sour roses, so who knows if I could have predicted this twitchy time? Once I was done with business, I ran out to find her. She was in the food room. She was flat on her back and she was drooling. I sat on her chest and watched her face. There was something wrong, well, more wrong than usual. She had drooled before during one of her twitchy times. But this time it wasn't running out her mouth, it was just kind of pooling up. I pivoted my ears for a more direct listen. What I heard shocked me. She sounded just like that old tom that died of the lung water illness. This was a bad thing. Her head turned a little bit to the side and a small amount of drool slipped out. That's what she needed; she needed to spill it out. I thought about it and put out a paw, careful to keep my claws in. I patted her cheek. A tiny bit of the drool came out, but not enough. I put more pressure on and more came out, but she still sounded like that old tom. My angel was dying. Okay, I admit, I panicked. My angel was dying and I didn't know what to do. I yowled. I mean I really cut loose. I yowled like a pack of demon dogs were chewing on my toes. I ran over to the window and hit the screen going at my best clip. No one was more startled than me when I just kept right on going. I needed the dusty man. I put my nose up and sniffed. Turning my head, I wet my nose with my tongue and sniffed the air currents like I never had before, not even when worried about rats. I found the scent, he was close. I bolted at top speed, claws digging deep for traction. I hit his window screen, and clinging, I started yowling like I _was_ the demon dog. I heard a startled sound and the dusty man opened the door. He was looking at me with his mouth hanging open. I was getting scared now. I had been gone an eternity, I didn't know if my angel was still breathing. With a hiss, I informed him he needed to get his feet in motion. He snapped out of it and started running almost as fast as me. Looking in the open window, he made some sharp sounds, then climbed in and ran over to my angel. I was already sitting on her chest, patting her cheeks. He dislodged me, but I forgave him after a warning swipe of my claws. He turned her on her side, so the drool fell out, like it should. Her breathing started back again and the blue tinge slowly left her lips. # "You can't keep this up, Angie girl." Tim ran a shaking hand over his face. "He saved your life today, but you can't keep relying on him. Let me take you to the doctor. You can have a life again, get out of this apartment." Angie sat on the couch with the tabby cat on her lap. She gazed unblinking at the Christmas tree lights. "What happens if I have a seizure when I'm out _there_, without him to warn me? Tim, I couldn't stand it if that happened." Tim reached over and smoothed her hair. "There are assistance dogs; they can do the same thing that the fiend does." "He would never accept a dog in the house." Angie laughed, rubbing the cat's ears. "He would terrorize a dog as much as he terrorizes you." "Maybe, maybe not." Being careful not to touch the cat, Tim took Angie's hand in his. "You don't need to live like this. You know I will drive you around anytime you ask. I will even drive like a little old woman, so you're not scared you will be in another accident." He got up and went into the kitchen. "But it's almost summer time, when my construction job really picks up. I won't be around much to help you. You need the medicine, Angie. And you need a dog, so you will feel safe going outside by yourself." Tim pulled down a can of tuna. He watched the cat jump out of Angie's lap and head for the kitchen. Tim swore the cat could read the tuna labels. "Yes, I'm getting you your tuna, you little fiend." "All right, Tim." Angie got up and took the tuna can from him and pulled out the electric can opener. "I'll go to a doctor. But the dog...?" "We'll take the fiend with us, see if we can find a dog he will accept." She hesitated. "Look,I'll check on dogs tomorrow -- but if he doesn't like it, back it goes!" Angie laughed. "I admit, it would be nice to be free again." "Geeze, Angie, you need a new can opener. That one's grinding." Tim winced at the grating sputter. Angie turned, the unopened tuna can in her hand and a strange look on her face. "Gabriel's purring."