(I generally don't put my fiction on my blog here. But this isn't my usual science fiction or fantasy. It's over ten years old, and has never been a suitable fit for literary-fiction or other markets. But I think it's a nice little story, so I'm putting it out here as an experiment to see if it has any audience. If you like it, let me know. Better yet, let other people know.)
LOST CREATURES
by Bruce Arthurs
He
had been called Handsome Devil. That had been when he had a home,
and owners who had fed and brushed him regularly, had played the
fetch game with him on an almost daily basis. Then they had left in
their car one day, and had never come back. Strangers in black
clothing had entered the home after several days, bearing boxes into
which they had solemnly packed his owners' belongings, sometimes
breaking out in tears. Handsome Devil had hid from them, uncertain
what their presence meant. One had opened a window, and failed to
close it completely when the strangers left at the end of the day.
Handsome Devil had squeezed out the narrow aperture, jumped to the
ground, and gone to look for his owners.
He
had been full-bodied and sleek of coat, then. Now he was thin, and
his coat was dry and spiky; both ears were ragged from combat, and
one leg still ached from the damage when a boy had deliberately
ridden his bicycle into Handsome Devil. He had learned that the
world beyond his home was a dangerous place, and that many of the
people who lived there were not kind, and were best avoided.
Hunger
was his constant companion. He caught the occasional bird or lizard,
scrounged in trash cans, would sometimes chance stealing food from a
dish left outside for a cat or dog who still had their owners. He
drank from gutters and puddles. His owners were a fading memory,
and survival was his predominant thought.
There
were places where finding food was more likely, brightly lit
glass-front buildings where people would stop for snacks, drinks,
cigarettes and sundries. Handsome Devil could usually find a bit of
hot dog, or at least a piece of the bun, dropped on the ground or thrown towards the garbage cans. Sometimes pigeons or sparrows
would gather for the crumbs found there, and he would be able to
stalk and ambush them for his own needs.
He
was in the underbrush near such a place, eyes and attention fixed and
tense upon a sparrow pecking at crumbs, when the man approached. The
man walked with a heavy step, his head down, his thumbs hooked into
the pockets of his worn jeans.
The
sparrow looked up at the figure approaching across the asphalt.
Handsome Devil began his move, rising and taking several quick
panther-steps forward from under the bush, then stopping in
frustration as the sparrow rose upwards in a fluster of wings.
The
man stopped short as well. Cat and man stared at each other, one
wary, the other surprised.
"Christ,
puss," the man finally said. "You look like I feel."
The
man slowly lowered himself into a crouch and extended a hand towards
Handsome Devil; he made come-hither motions, strumming his thumb
across his fingers. Handsome Devil stayed frozen in position, ready
to flee but not sure this was the safest moment to do so.
The
man ceased the come-hither motions. "Nah," he said softly,
"you don't trust me. Or anybody else, I reckon. It's a hard
world, isn't it, puss? A hard, crappy world."
He
reached up slowly and pulled a cord from beneath his shirt. The cord
went around his neck; a colored plastic disk was strung on the cord.
The man held up the disk and looked at it.
"Ninety
days sober, last week. I thought I was pulling things back together.
And then..." He paused. "...this morning she told me she
wanted the divorce anyway. She's going to take the kids and go to
her parents back East."
He
yanked at the disk, snapping the string. He rose back to his full
height and stared at the storefront ahead of him. "To hell with
it," he whispered. "To Hell." The man flung his arm
to one side and cast the disk away.
The
disk tumbled through the air. Sudden memory blossomed in Handsome
Devil's mind as his eyes automatically tracked the colored object.
Fetch
it, Handsome Devil,
his owners would say, and toss the plastic bottlecap across the tiled
kitchen floor.
He
burst into a run across the asphalt. The disk struck and bounced,
struck again, spinning and tumbling, and then Handsome Devil was on
top of it, pinning it, capturing it, rising with it clenched in his
mouth and turning proudly to display his catch.
And
the man was disappearing into the building, the glass door starting
to swing shut behind him.
The
door almost closed on Handsome Devil's tail as he scooted through the
shrinking opening and into the cooled air of the store.
The
man was standing at the counter, staring past the clerk and at the
rows of bottles containing amber and clear liquids. He raised a
hand, started to point. "Give me one of----"
And
stopped, and looked down towards his feet, where Handsome Devil was
rubbing back and forth against his pant legs and purring around the
disk still held between his jaws.
The
clerk looked over. "How'd he get in here?"
The
man leaned down and slipped a hand under Handsome Devil's stomach.
He lifted him up, took the disk from Handsome Devil, and laid him
against his shoulder. The man stared at the disk as he absently
stroked the cat's head and shoulders.
Handsome
Devil purred louder.
"If
he's yours, you can't bring him in here," the clerk said.
The
man turned his eyes toward the clerk. "Do you...?" he
began. "Do you have any cat food here?"
-end-
