felineFic

I always wanted a cat as a child.

Yellow eyes surrounded by black stare up at me. One winks. She... at least, I think it's a she, seems to be smiling at me. One of those coy yet smug 'cat' smiles that always carry that hint of menace.

It's funny when you think about it. I always wanted a born predator as a child. Something that, if not cuddled and spoiled like a sickening teddy bear, wouldn't hesitate to claw your eyes out with a scratch.

Something I would do.

Because I was never spoiled. Neither was the cat. After all, we didn't have one. Even if I had pleaded with my mother, instead of standing in the corner of the room facing the wall like a good girl....for days on end, until my knees gave in and I collapsed on the floor- only to face a good beating for being disobedient to Mommy. She only referred to herself as Mommy when she was angry or drunk. Which was all the time.

So, even if I had pleaded her, sh wouldn't have heard me in her haze of bourbon. It's a wonder she ever saw me. And the only word I remember hearing actually *clearly* from her mouth was 'bitch'.

I don't know if she was talking to me or herself. I don't really care. She *was* a bitch. And so am I.

I turn my focus back to the cat. I decide it is a she. She's still staring up at me, the menace present in her features. She senses one of her own, I think. I send back a smile of my own, one that would chill me to the bone if I had a mirror and a conscience. She thinks twice about trying to continue staring me down, wipes the menace from her features, and turns to walk away.

For some reason, that angers me.

I always wanted a cat as a child. Because they were beautiful, and I wanted to be like them. I wasn't accepted by my own kind, so I found the next best thing. I shaped myself after those dark smiles, the piercing, knowing gaze, the loneliness that immediately gave so much freedom. God knows I didn't want to be a housecat. I wasn't born feral, but I did a great f**king job of becoming it.

Since I wasn't like my own kind, I became one of them. And one of my own kind just turned their back on me. Of course it's going to piss me off.

No one turns their back on me. Not anymore.

B seems to think I have a reputation for killing my own kind. She thinks I've turned against them. But I've *never* killed my own kind. I've killed humans. But of course B wouldn't understand that. The closest animal instinct she'll have is that of a protective puppy dog.

Which is probably why I hiss and spit at her as much as I can. I'd claw her eyes out like my predecessors if I could.

But the point is, I have NEVER killed my own kind. Because I am one of them. And they have never, f**king NEVER turned their back on me. Until now. F**king bitch smiled and turned away.

I'd see red, but all I ever remember seeing is black.

She might seem smaller, but in essence, we're the same. We're one. Her blood is mine. So there's no problem in taking it.

If I was cruel, I'd act like a teenage boy, and pull her tail or throw rocks at her. But that would be demeaning. That would be human. I may be stronger than her, but she's my sister.

The quick and primal scream hurts my ears for the moment, and for a split second I feel remorse for hurting my own, but then the yellow eyes turn on me with spitting rage and I can only glare back.

The fur that was soft beneath my fingertips is now matted and sticks to my fingers. The yellow haze that I wasn't aware had come to my eyes recedes, and I see that among other things, her neck is broken.

I oddly hope that I did that first.

It's when I look down at her leg to see bone jutting out of skin, that I realize what I have done. I begin to weep for my sister, and al the longings I had as a child rush back at me to whip me around the the face.

I always wanted a cat as a child. And now I have one, but like everything else, I have broken her. I bury my face into her fur and let my tears mix with the blood.

I have to fix her, I have to fix her......

I pick her up, cradling little sister gently in my arms. She needs a bed to rest in, so she can get better. I can fix her. I can take her home, to my little room, and tuck her in bed.

She can be fixed..... She can.

By the time I reach home, I already feel so damn tired. Which is odd, it's the middle of the night, it's the perfect time for us to be awake.

I take her into the bathroom and begin to clean her up. Her fur will never be soft again, but neither will mine.

One of the yellow eyes is still staring. I gently close it, so she can sleep. I'm not sure what happened to the other one.

Sis already looks better. the bone is still poking out at an odd angle, and her neck looks strange, but she'll heal like me. We're tough. We can handle it.

Yawn and stretch. I gently ease her into bed, and lie down next to her, stroking her fur. She seems peaceful.

I decide to leave her be, let her sleep and heal, so we can hunt tomorrow night. I turn over, but I still feel the fur itching under my palms. I can't close my eyes, the tears are coming back, and the colours are twisting behind them.

I lie still, thinking of Mommy. How she'd be mad at me for breaking something else yet again. I see myself in the corner facing the wall again. My knees give out, and I can feel her striding towards me, hand poised to strike.

Only this time, I turn before she can force me to, and lash out. There are four neat lines down the side of her face from my claws. I blink yellow eyes at her, and before she can scream I am upon her, tearing her throat out.

When I am done, I can still taste the blood in my mouth, and the fur under my palms is no longer an itch, it is a welcome presence.

I turn back to the corner and see little sister smiling at me with both eyes.


                                                                                                  . . . . . . . . . . . . .

                                                                                                        End

I must add, before all cat lover flame me, that I am one of the biggest cat lovers around, just ask my cat. I don't condone animal cruelty in any way, I just have a sick and twisted little mind when it comes to writing. Just remember that this is fiction, children.