Filmore

Filmore was lost. Well, not really lost. Everybody else was lost. He knew where he was, but no one else did. Filmore was a proud male cat. A bright orange Maine Coon. Handsome in a cat way. He took pride in his shiny coat. Even while mouse hunting, he took time to bathe. But now. Now he felt like an inexperienced kitten. He felt like crying. He looked back down the alley. The pack of dogs that had chased him was gone. At least he didn’t see them. The little spotted one almost got him. Forced into a corner, he turned to face them. The big dogs hung back. They sent the littlest one to do their dirty work.

“Go on, squirt, get him.”

“Tear him apart.” A big husky yelled from a safe distance away.

“Yeah. Teach him who’s boss.” Another mixed breed screamed.

 Well, if he was going to die, he wouldn’t make it easy for them. He would make them pay.

 Filmore arched his back, ready for battle. He pretended as if he had claws. Squirt cautiously came forward one step at a time. The other dogs hung back, barking encouragement. Fillmore pretended to be scared. He backed into the corner of the old building. He waited until the little spotted dog was two feet away. Squirt came forward, his whole-body trembling. Looking back over his shoulder, the pup gained courage from the  

“Go on. You got him now.” The husky said.

Filmore waited. “Just a little closer.” The cat said to himself. He pretended to be scared to death. He backed up against a wall of the garage, meowing pitifully.

You’ve got him, Squirt. Tear him apart. The husky yelled.

Grinning Squirt came forward. Today he would prove his courage to the rest of the pack. Filmore changed. He faced the little dog. Ears back. Tail whipping from one side to the other. Eyes narrowed the eyes of a tiger. He pretended that the little dog was a rat.

“I’m gonna tear you aparttttttttt.” Filmore screamed at the top of his lungs. He charged the terrified little dog. The spotted pup stopped his front foot in the air. Squirt’s eyes stared bug-eyed.

 It was almost funny. He ran at Squirt as if he were going to slice him into hamburger. His back arched really to do battle to the death. Filmore charged him full force. He batted the dog on the nose. You would have thought he had torn his muzzle off. The dog screamed. Whirling around, the pup charged back to his friends.

Filmore leaped onto the dog’s back. “Help, help. He’s got me. Help.” The little dog yelped.

If he had claws, the cat would have dug them into Squirt’s sides. As it was, the cat screamed in the pup’s ear. Yelping, the dog ran terrified toward the safety of his friends. The other dogs, seeing him coming with a wildcat on his back, scattered. Every dog for himself. He dug into his pads and screamed in the pup’s ear.

“I’m gonna kill youuuu.” Filmore screamed.

“Help. Oh, please, somebody help me. “The little dog screamed.

The other dogs had disappeared, leaving the pup on his own. Filmore had to laugh as, looking over his shoulder, Squirt ran full force into an electric pole. Picking himself up, the dog ran yelping down the street. “He hit me with a big club. He hit me with a big club.” The little dog charged down the street, looking over his shoulder. Filmore screamed at him again.

Filmore danced around in victory. Then he sulked back into the garage. The cat crawled back onto the workbench and stared at the house. He remembered coming here as a kitten. Barely 6 weeks old. The little girl wanted him to sleep in her bed that night. Her parents persuaded her to let the kitten sleep in a box on the floor beside her bed. He awoke the next morning with her petting him. The little girl named Syble carried her new kitten downstairs. Her mother smiled and poured milk into a bowl. To Filmore, that was the sweetest milk he had ever tasted. After he finished the milk, Syble filled his bowl with dry cat food. He went to sleep chewing a piece of food. His face in the bowl, his body on the floor. Syble refilled the bowl. When he awoke a few minutes later, he looked at this little girl and her mother. Both were smiling at him, thus he gained the name Filmore. Filmore would wait for Syble to return home from school. Syble made silly costumes for the growing cat. He was a soldier, a farmer, and even a maiden. Filmore drew the line at Syble fitting him with a wig of yarn. He shook it off and with his tail at full mast made his escape under the bed. He didn’t come out until Syble promised to take the dress off him.

Filmore settled into a routine. Potty trained he slept under the little girl’s arm. He sat by his food bowl while she ate breakfast. When she left for school, he watched from the front window. Afterward, he ate breakfast, then slept on the sofa until noon. Sometimes he played with his toys in the afternoon. When Syble came home from school, he greeted her at the front door. Filmore sat on her bed watching her. She told her cat about school while she changed clothes. He purred as she rubbed his back or his ears. He sat quietly as she ate the evening meal. Sometimes she gave him special treats, like chicken. He rubbed her legs while she did her homework.

Last week, everything changed. People came into the house and started carrying everything out. Even Syble’s bed. The little girl said something about a new home. She tried to put Fillmore in a cage. Filmore backed up, fessing. He had never been in a cage in his entire life, and he wasn’t going into one now. He ran past the stove and the refrigerator . A door opened before him. He charged into the backyard, into the alley, and down the street.

“Filmore, oh, come back. Please come back, please.” He could hear the little girl sobbing.

 He didn’t know where he was. Then the dogs came. He now found himself hopelessly lost. Nothing looked familiar. He hid in the garage and cried. Filmore hadn’t cried like this since he was a kitten. Curling his big fluffy tail, covering his nose and eyes, he cried himself to sleep. He dreamed. It must be a dream. He opened his eyes. He must be dreaming. Syble hugged him to her chest. She patted him, running her hands down his back. “Oh, Filmore, why did you run? We’re just moving to a new house.” She carried him to the car.

Today Filmore lives in the new house. He settled into a routine. The only thing he hated was when he arrived Syble’s parents insisted Filmore have a bath. He felt as though they were trying to drown him. Afterward, he sat on the kitchen floor and stroked his fur.  Syble promised they were not moving again, but Filmore is not sure. After all, she’s only seven.