Two Lonely Strays

When I left the house this morning, I did not anticipate being led astray by a stray cat. If I had, perhaps I would have chosen more appropriate footwear.

As it is, my suede pumps will never be the same, thanks to the river of blood I find myself standing in.

I was enjoying an early morning wander through my local farmer’s market, inspecting produce and giggling at inappropriate tea towels, when I felt something warm brush up against my leg. It was a cat! An orange tabby, slightly mangy with no collar, was weaving its way between my legs, vying for attention.

I thanked the booth’s owner for the peach jam sample I had just consumed and went to move on to the next stall. I nearly tripped over the tabby, still at my feet demanding I take notice! I stopped down to give it a quick pat when a splash of red caught my eye.

Was that jam or blood at the end of its tail?

Satisfied that I was now fully invested, the stray began to walk away, stopping every few yards to look over its shoulder back at me. I got the feeling I should follow…

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea for me, a single 30-something woman, to blindly trust a cat to lead me around the city, but I also didn’t have anywhere else to be. 

I could feel eyes on me as we moved through the market together. I supposed it was a strange sight: a cat and its lonely owner strolling purposefully, not bothering to stop and explore any storefronts. Suddenly, I got the feeling there was more to the curious looks. Was I in danger?

I shook the paranoia out of my head. It was jam on the cat’s tail, no one was staring, and there was nothing nefarious afoot. I could be so dramatic sometimes! Living alone did that to a person.

We walked until we ran out of booths and fewer and fewer people lined the streets. I started to get that eerie feeling again, just as the cat made an abrupt turn and disappeared into an alley.

I rolled my eyes. Of course it had to end up in an alley.

The moment I stepped into the narrow passage, all remaining hubbub from the market died away. The silence pressed in on me, sending my heartrate through the roof, my footsteps echoing against the… was that cobblestone?

The cat kept on, striding deeper into the alley and I jogged to catch up. I took in my surroundings as we walked, simultaneously charmed and confused. I couldn’t see the end of the passageway, the depths disappearing into dark nothingness. But where the city was gray and metallic with nondescript skyscrapers left and right, this little hideaway transported me to a quaint Parisian side street. Balconies peppered the buildings on either side of me, overflowing with planter boxes brimming with colors and heavenly scents. Vivid murals brought the brick walls to life, depicting lively people and animals living in harmony. I caught a passing whiff of freshly baked bread. The comforting aroma got stronger the further we went; I began to hope that was where this stray was leading me. 

My watering mouth became the Sahara Desert when I realized the paint from the murals had spilled onto the cobblestones. Except it wasn’t paint. It was bright red blood. And I had been walking in the stream of it for some time if the stained suede of my shoes was any indication. 

I stopped in my tracks, my initial shock turning into cold-blooded fear. This wasn’t just a little spilled blood, easily explained by a child skinning their knee or a passing bloody nose. No, this could only be described as a river of blood, snaking its way down the alley. Its source was still far enough away that I couldn’t see what we were headed toward. The cat meowed loudly to urge me on, but the sudden sharp noise only startled me further. I screamed loudly into the abyss and the cat took off running into the darkness.

Owners of the surrounding apartments peeked their heads out onto their terraces in alarm. Adrenaline kicked in and I ran after the stray, careful not to trip over the source of the oozing blood should it appear in my path. 

And there she was, splayed on the stones in an unlikely position, her broken body forming gruesome, unnatural angles. The cat I had followed was by her side, licking and nudging its owner’s unresponsive hand. My heart shattered into a million pieces for them both as my stomach flipped over on itself. 

There would be time to unpack my emotions around this trauma later; I launched into action and called the police, ever the responsible citizen. I stayed with the body as instructed, not that I would have left, but I certainly didn’t want anyone thinking I had any part in this aside from being guided there by her devastated fur baby. The same neighbors who had peeked their heads out had conveniently popped them back into their apartments, ignoring the unfortunate circumstances below to avoid being roped into the solution. I was on my own with a grieving cat. 

The authorities found us curled up together on the ground, two strays astray no more. The orphaned cat had become mine the moment the owner had fallen and it sought my help. We needed each other, bringing mutual comfort in the adventure that is life. 

After the commotion cleared, my new cat and I made our way back through the market. It was not my imagination this time; there were definitely eyes on us, a spectacle of blood and grief. 

We got back to my small but sweet apartment and collapsed together on the threadbare couch. The cat lay its head on my lap and purred gently, the picture of peace. Despite the traumatic events of the day, warmth spread through me. I could almost purr myself.