YOU CAN’T KEEP A GOOD DOG DOWN!

Frustration made Barkwhisker tense before he even stood up; he’d just woken up under a table covered in old bills and flies. There was probably spoiled food under all those papers, too, because, although everything stunk, one of the other toms here was trying to get to it.

Slowly, the warrior got to his paws from a tightly-curled ball of fur, having been covering his nose with his tail; he was still tired, as always. He never slept more than an hour or two at a time. But at least he was intimidating enough to scare the others away from the food bowls for a while… even if the pellets in there tasted like glorified rocks.

Barkwhisker stretched. His body felt stiff and a little sore. Maybe that was what he got for fighting with a she-cat for a mouse that had snuck in, but ultimately, he’d won it, so maybe it was worth having to lick a cut on his foreleg when it stung.

He crouched before one of the six food bowls, surprised to see that only two other cats were eating, but he kept his tail a little bushier than normal- just a precaution. The tip twitched periodically when he glanced around.

Don’t touch me, mange-balls.

Ah, no water again. What a shocker, he thought, flattening his ears.

“Barkyyyyy,” one of the toms droned behind him, “you done wit’ that bowl-?”

“Don’t call me that! Y’ ain’t gettin’ a crumb!” Barkwhisker hissed, spinning around with unsheathed claws. The white cat scrambled away as fast as his stubby legs could move.

He watched the startled fleabag run, but then perked up the instant he heard the door open, just beside the table. He bolted towards it, desperate for air that didn’t smell rotten and stale. The freaky cat-collector guy’s son came in and hollered something to him, and he didn’t even move when Barkwhisker and a few others ran outside.

Panting, Barkwhisker shook his dirty pelt and rolled around on the grass, then shook his head with a grimace. The only thing that kept him and the several dozen others here was a locked wooden fence and gate, all around the house… and way too tall to reach in one jump. It was really confusing, like most Twoleg things…

It was cool outside, but the grass was sparkling with dew from the sun he was delighted to feel on his back; it made him want to roll around again, but he wouldn’t look a fool in front of these morons. They wouldn’t be scared of him anymore if he showed too much… what was the word?

…whatever. He didn’t care to think about it.

…

Barkwhisker was still outside several hours later, and woke up to find it was lightly sprinkling. Almost everyone had gone back in. When, he didn’t know- or care.

He yawned and began to groom himself, but suddenly froze mid-lick. The scent of someone NEW was floating around. A she-cat. And she didn’t stink, like he and the other cats!

Baffled but pleasantly surprised, he trotted forwards, then turned around to track the scent- or find the other feline. The trees beyond the wooden barrier could’ve been her hiding place… so that’s where he stared, amber eyes big, ears straining.

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colours.

SOUND. crickets and lightening bugs. car engines and a/c units. a phone call to mom/dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. deafening gunfire. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks are getting slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favourite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that has lost its flavour. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. the processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.