Cringing in terror as the speeding car missed me by inches, I wobbled away from the road, legs feeling rubbery.
I should never have left the safety of the yard.

I can’t stop the quivering. The dark alley I’ve stepped into smells of rotting food in the waste bins, motor oil, and body odor. My stomach turns.

 

Traffic noise, sirens in the distance, brakes squealing, and the clatter of footsteps remind me of the danger surrounding me.

“Hey there, little one. What you doing in this neighborhood?”

The tough looking feline addressing me is fifteen pounds heavier, and looks as if he could claw through my skull to my brain with one stripe. Scars on his head and face from numerous fights show he’s capable of violence.  There’s no way I want to offend him.

“Sir, I’m lost. Can you help me? My owners live in a big house with a Magnolia tree in front of it. It can’t be that far away.”

“A pretty little kitten lost in this bad neighborhood. I’d suggest you quit shivering like that. It shows fear. And fear radiates to predators around here.”

 He confidently meanders closer with the fir standing up on his back. I’ve got to show I’m no danger to him.

“My names is Charlie, and I was foolish to ramble so far from home. The noise…is it always so loud around here?”

“Live free in these parts and you gat used to it. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you to your new situation? You see, most of the cats living here were abandoned by humans.”

“I wasn’t abandoned. I just wandered off.”

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, that’s what all the new ones to the Back Alley Ghetto say.”

He led me deeper into the unlit alley, and silent, glaring, red eyes followed me from garbage cans and huge overflowing trash bins.
Whispering, the big cat said, “Don’t worry most of them are harmless. Besides, you’re with me, the biggest, baddest cat in the alley.”

 Occasionally dim light from windows illuminated small areas, but they did little to alleviate my nerves.

Suddenly a ten foot high concrete wall blocked our path. End-of-the- road. End-of-my-hope. End-of…me?

The orange tabby was getting uncomfortably close. Hunched, I began backing away.

Run or fight?

There is nowhere to run. I’m trapped in a dark alley. Fight a tabby twice my size and used to surviving on the street? Beg for mercy? No.
I stood straight, calmed my fear, and spoke.

“My mother told me stories about friends and relatives she knew who were forced to live alone on the streets having to survive by their cleverness and common sense.”

Those wild, glowing eyes gathered around watching to see what would happen next.

“She said some were the bravest cats she had ever known. To survive alone on dangerous streets, never knowing when they might find their next meal. Lonely. Loveless. She said some just gave up and died, unable to fend for themselves. Others found courage from deep within themselves, and found ways to endure those hardships. Like you all have.”

I could feel much of the hostility lessen, eagerly awaiting to hear more.

“Here’s a nighttime story she often told me.

One cold winter, Whiskers, a small tabby cat, was born in a dark, black alley in downtown Houston, Texas. Her mother was killed in the street by a car when she was just five weeks old. Her brothers and sisters died early from exposure and hunger, but Whiskers somehow struggled through the cold nights finding shelter huddled beneath a cardboard box. Still the bitter sting of the icy wind weakened her, and with her mother’s milk no longer available, hunger cramped her stomach.
Just as she felt her strength would no longer support standing, and that all hope was lost, a miracle happened. A kind-hearted woman named Sarah, who worked late at a nearby office, stumbled upon the alley and noticed the faint meowing that was Whisker’s last plea. Moved by compassion, Sarah carefully scooped up Whiskers and rushed her to a nearby animal shelter.
It took a week for her strength to begin to return. And each evening Sarah would return to check on her. Deeply touched by the little cat’s resilience, she decided too adopt her into her loving home. Forever after, the mutual love between the kitten and the human flourished.

Some of the cats in the crowd had tears in their eyes, and others appeared moved by my story. One spoke.

“Bruiser, that story was wonderful.”

The big cat sat like a cold ice sculpture glaring at me, but now I knew his name. Finally he answered.

“Yes that was a very moving story, Charlie, but we’re not cute little kittens, and there’s little chance that any of us would find a loving home. Even if we did would we be able to adapt to that life? What would you have us do?”

“Just know that there is love and caring in the world. Some of us are fortunate enough to be born into it, but that doesn’t mean everyone shouldn’t seek it out. If you find no love or caring from humans, you can seek it from your peers and extend it to others in need. Love brings peace to your heart.”

“Are you sharing this story to save yourself? To make us care for you?”

A voice from the shadows called, “I care about her. Charlie’s clever and speaks ab

Another from the crowd said, “I care about her too. The story melted my heart.”

There were mutterings of agreement all around.

Addressing the crowd, Bruiser spoke as if he were a drill sergeant at boot camp.

“Here we have a domestic cat…”

Someone broke in, “She’s not even one year old. She’s still a kitten.”

“Okay a kitten…lost and expecting us to help her find her way home. Is that our job? Are we responsible to concern ourselves with one kitten when many of us have had to endure similar situations? We had to fend for ourselves. To fight and scavenge for food and shelter. Even if we wanted to help her, where would we start?”

An old cat greying around her whiskers, and limping with age and a hard life, stepped into the light.

“We would start by listening to her. Let her describe her home. From the pack of misfits in our crowd, one or more of us may recognize the place.”

The chill in my chest began to warm with hope.

“I can tell you what I remember..”

Ignoring my words, Bruiser’s voice softened when he addressed the old cat.

“Bertha, I have sympathy for her too, but do you really think her family cares that she’s gone?”

A smaller cat crawled up beside Bertha.

“They do, Bruiser. I saw a woman put a picture of Charlie on the mail stand just this afternoon. I think she was asking for help finding her.”

Bertha’s ears drew back, and she addressed the small cat like it was slow-witted.

“Where did you she the woman? Charlie’s home must be near that mail stand.”

“It was…” the cat turned slowly in a circle and stopped facing the wall. “That direction.”

“On the other side of the wall? How far”

“I was crawling on my belly to avoid the big dog… it took ten minutes… then the squirrel I chased… and I stopped for water at the city fountain, no that was yesterday…”

Bertha asked kindly, “Are you sure it was Charlie’s picture you saw?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. It was her.” He paused and scratched his ear with his back foot like he was clearing his head.  “I’m pretty sure.”

“I’ll take Charlie in that direction. It can’t be more than a few blocks,” Bertha said.

Bruiser shook his head.

“No, Bertha, I’ll take her. I found her after all. She’s my responsibility.”

He turned and climbed up an old wooden pallet leaning against the concrete wall that I hadn’t spotted in the darkness.

“Follow me, Charlie.”

There were well wishes from the others as she slithered up the post behind him.

“Good luck, Charlie.”

”I hope you find your way.”

“I loved your story.”

As we treked the back streets, Bruiser shared his street-smart wisdom, teaching  me how to stay out of harm's way. Together, we navigated through the labyrinth of alleys and busy roads, keeping a watchful eye for potential trouble.

Finally after a long and arduous trek, I knew we were in the right neighborhood. When I spotted the back door of my house, my heart filled with relief and joy. My owner spotted me climb over the backyard fence with Bruiser and rushed to take me in her arms. I nuzzled her chin, then looked back at Bruiser.

He nodded in contentment, knowing he had made a difference in my life. Before he disappeared climbing back to his home in the alley, I saw a glimmer of a tear in his eyes.

 He visits from time to time, and we take long walks through the rough and tumble backstreets of the city. Many of the alley cats wave and call out to me as we pass. Old Bertha told me recently that the alley is a friendlier place after hearing my story.

Life in the city can be both wondrous and harsh. Friendship makes the journey so much easier.