Chapter 2
The next few days went by quickly for Muse. She learned where to regularly find scraps of food, usually in the back kitchens of restaurants. One of the cooks noticed her and put the scraps in a bowl, wistfully patting her head. Muse let herself be patted – she was used to people – but she didn't enjoy it. She was focused on the bowl of food only. Most other times she kept out of sight, knowing that if she was seen too much, the restaurants would conceal their garbage to avoid having too many strays around. Muse ate as much as she could when she found fresh food, even if she had to force it down, so she could go longer afterwards before she'd have to worry about eating again. Water was easy to find. There were always puddles on the pier, or wet leaky buckets.
When evening fell one night, the city didn't go to sleep. Instead, it woke up as the moon rose in the sky. People lounged on each other's arms and giggled their way in and out of pubs. Groups of adults laughed and cheered and argued on the sidewalks, their busy feet that Muse remembered from the daytimes suddenly more relaxed, and less in a hurry.
"It's a weekend," sniffed Contempt. Muse had spotted her curled up in an alley, and after initial distrust, Contempt settled down to chat. "It'll be like this until later at night, when they go home again." Contempt's voice was hoarser than last time and her eyes were tired.
I remember weekends, when I lived indoors. People are happier, and there are more of them around, it seems.
"And they're louder and more obnoxious too, if that's possible." Contempt rolled her eyes and laughed her short, dry laugh. She stretched and her pearls rattled. "And this alley isn't going to be quiet enough either. Let's get out of here." She leapt to her feet with sudden energy and trotted off. Muse followed her, startled.
Where are we going?
"Somewhere we won't run into any people. I don't want to get wet tonight."
Wet?
"Yes, wet." Contempt led the way down another street and traveled several blocks, until she stopped at a street where bushes flanked the sides of brick houses. "Here is good. No pubs. Sidewalks are quiet. No food though, but, that's a weekend." She shrugged and turned to lick her back.
The moon shone off the street signs and the glass windows of houses. A rose trellis climbed one brick wall and poured its petals into a window box where geraniums struggled to grow. A window sill was painted white, and so were the shutters, and Muse sat down next to a wrought iron gate. She liked people's gardens and felt safe in the nighttime next to a house. It reminded her of her indoor life, and being cared for in an environment that never changed, unlike the wild and never-ending city blocks with its relentless cars and horns and hurrying feet. Somewhere above her she heard faint voices of people inside, maybe from a second story, maybe from the third. A window was hoisted open and the voices got louder. A man called down, his voice slurred and happy. "Look at the strays!" he said. Muse stood and looked up at him, and her mouth answered him with its silent meow, but Contempt didn't deign to respond. She licked the same spot on her back, flatter and flatter.
"Hey!" said the man again. Muse knew he was drunk, but she didn't entirely understand what that meant. She remembered that when she had lived indoors, the humans behaved in a loud, ungainly manner when they drank from the bottles with the pungent odors. She knew they could be fun and friendly, but clumsy, and unpredictable. A lock of hair fell past the man's eyes as he leaned from the window and looked down at them. He was young, for an adult. "Hey!" he said again, his voice carrying easily from his window above them. "Want a drink?" Muse heard laughter from inside, and she saw too late that he tilted his glass.
Contempt shrieked as the wine waterfalled over her fur and she raced away, hissing. Muse leapt back, dismayed, then ducked out of the garden and followed. They ran through the streets, Contempt wildly and erratically, Muse expressionlessly. She looked over her shoulder once and saw the window being shut. She was dry but she could feel tiny sprinkles of wine from Contempt's fur as Contempt shuddered while she ran.
Finally they stopped. Muse had no idea where she was. It was another alley, very narrow, and very dark and dry, with boxes stacked all around; wooden boxes and cardboard boxes, both oddly free of the dampness and mildew that Muse was used to finding in other alleys. They were within earshot of the street but no light and no footfall fell near them. Contempt's breath came in ragged gasps and her eyes shone with anger.
"Wine," Contempt spat. She tried to lick herself but retched with disgust. "I can't abide the taste. And that," she said suddenly to Muse with a wicked edge to her voice, "is why I avoid pubs on weekend nights. As if people don't have anything better to do than to pour wine on cats." She sat perfectly still and glared at the dark concrete walls. "And now apparently I must avoid houses with high windows, too." Her eyes narrowed and her breath hissed.
Muse hesitated, and then decided carefully to go ahead with her thought.
But it's just wine.
"Just wine?" snapped Contempt. "There's nothing more vile than just wine on your fur. It's sticky and smelly and attracts gnats, and tastes so foul I can't even clean myself off. Besides," she sniffed, "it rots the string of my pearls."
Muse drew closer and saw the frayed string unraveling in places between pearls, and reinforced with tiny knots on other places where it had already been broken. There was a heavier thread, almost like fishing line, running through several pearls at a time in places where the string was gone altogether.
I thought it was sweet. The bubbles were ticklish, but once you drank it down, it was sweet and fizzy.
Contempt stared at Muse. "You drank wine," she said flatly.
Muse stared back.
"Whoever used to own you fed you wine, didn't they," said Contempt, "and you were silly enough to think it was some kind of treat, that they gave it to you because they loved you, and not because they only thought it was amusing to watch you stagger around afterwards."
I didn't stagger, protested Muse defensively. They let me drink anything I wanted, and it's what they were drinking, on weekends, and I was included.
"Were they young? The people who owned you? New adults, just finishing their own kittenhood? Grown, but not quite old enough to be married and settled? No babies, no children yet?"
Well yes, but—
"And did they live here any longer than a year or two?"
No.
"And they just left, maybe around last week, when they got jobs uptown and got tired of the party lifestyle down here near the docks. And they left without a thought to you."
No, I—
"When did they leave?" Contempt demanded.
Abashed, Muse stared at her paws. The day I met you.
"They lived in a fun city neighborhood, filled with restaurants and pubs, tossed cares to the wind, got a cat, kicked up their heels for a year or two, and then grew up more and moved on. Without a backwards glance at their wild days. Or their pet. They probably didn't consider you anything other than part of the scenery."
Contempt let that sink in. Muse's eyes were blank, still staring.
"Did you think they loved you," Contempt spoke, rather than asked. "Did they call you something like Fluffy or Princess or Tabby and it varied from day to day, so that not even your name was permanent. Did they leave for days sometimes without remembering to leave you extra food or a window open. Did—"
Stop! Muse cried. She shut her eyes tight and heard Contempt start backwards from the sheer force of the thought. Muse bowed her head and whispered in her mind, Just stop.
Contempt jerked her head to clear it from the sudden pain that Muse's anguished word had inflicted in her mind. "You're barely beyond kittenhood," she said scathingly, but with a trace of pity. "It's time to grow up."