Kin Cage

“Surely, riding a cat is certain death,” Dante thought. The little guy's mind was whirling after the unnerving conversation he'd had with his father. “These zealots,” he said to himself, “going wherever the pack tells them without a thought as to why, or what consequences might await."

The sky over the abandoned farm was churning with cold, gray clouds. Withered, brown leaves fluttered across his four feet as Dante skittered across the old homestead. 

He was never one to walk in the old and dried footprints of others simply because it was the most lit path, most traveled or most valued by others. What his father was asking, no, making him do, was tantamount to a death sentence in his opinion.  

As he zipped past the old barn, with his stylish, red ribbon wrapped around his neck and waving in the wind, he could feel the eyes of other colony members on him. They were like claws against his fur. Their whispered derision filled his sensitive ears. “Where is that curiosity off to now?” they said. “He must be the shame of the family.” “How did Angelina and Xavier have that one?”  

Dante scuttled through the gauntlet of judgment with his fashion-statement ribbon-scarf trailing behind him; head up, defiant, summoning an impervious skin against the jeers of his peers. He crossed the abandoned farm, then scampered past the run-down barn, and made his way to the deserted farmhouse. He crawled across the abode to a closet in a sequestered corner of the house. He pushed through the patch of steel wool that sat in the entrance of his secret area, then returned the metal mesh behind him after entering. 

He looked around and exhaled. Immediately, a weight lifted off of his shoulders. The tension of living on the farm dissipated with each passing second in his clandestine safe space. This is where peace routinely washed over him and carried him to distant shores, far away from this place.

The space was dimly lit by the sunlight that trickled in through a small dusty window. The closet was separated into four long shelves, each shelf full of objects he had created, works that he’d made from various objects found in the house and around the farm.  

He nosed the work that sat closest to the closet entrance. It was his latest piece. “The Hunter, Tamed” he called it. The work had been his way of channeling and dealing with the angst of the coming news, the news he’d received from his father earlier that day.

Dante took a deep breath, shutting out the outside world, and he focused on his piece. The little guy picked up an old piece of gum he’d found on the road that ran along the farm and, with his claws, placed it on a stray cat whisker he’d found in a gooseberry bush. He sat on his hind legs and pushed the sticky pair of items onto a bag he’d found up in the nearby hills.  

He stepped back to see the progress of his work. His art was coming together just as he'd envisioned it. He had heard the term “art” on the light box the last humans who lived there stared at daily. Those images evoked something in Dante. Something that he couldn't describe, something that connected him to something bigger than himself.

He looked down at his claws. They were little miracles. All his family could think to do with them is trudge through the earth, getting them muddied and soiled as they went. He had found a different purpose for them. “Why would anyone want to jeopardize these?” he thought. “No cat is worth that.”

He returned his attention to his brainchild. It needed something else, he thought. Just what, he didn't know. Dante dove into the pile of random objects he used for his art and rummaged through it. His scuffling and skittering masked approaching foot falls. When he realized that someone was on the doorstep of his hidden art studio, it was too late. There was nothing he could do. Which, at this point, was fine by him. He knew he’d have to make a stand now, anyway, given the day's news.  

The steel wool was pushed through, and there, standing in the doorway was his brother, Aloysius. The bigger of the two Brown rats took up nearly the entire hole in the wall. He sniffed the air.  

“Dante,” Aloysius said, staring at the befuddling creations, “what in the world is all of this?”

Dante looked around the studio. “It’s my safe place,” he said.

His brother continued peering at the strange items that littered the space. He took in the scene, one he’d never seen, in all his months. “Safe space?…” he said. The large rat scurried up to the higher shelves, sniffing and nosing as he went. He poked his head over the edge of a shelf and looked down at Dante. “And what is all this stuff?”

“It’s my art,” Dante said, his nose twitching in the air.

Aloysius wound back down to the curious objects by his brother. He sniffed the Cheetos bag that was a part of “The Hunter, Tamed” and wrinkled his face. “Smells like man-stuff.” Then he nosed the cat whisker attached to the snack bag. He stared at Dante. “You should get rid of all this before Dad finds out.” His black eyes were grave and unflinching. 

“Why?”

“Cause you have man-stuff… and cat-stuff in here. Are you looking to get chewed out?”

Dante stared at his brother. He knew it was futile trying to explain to him what all this meant. “You should leave now,” he said. 

His brother eyed him. “Uh-huh. Are you gonna take this down or am I?”

“You won’t touch a thing,” Dante said.  

A month ago, Dante might have cowered and folded under Aloysius’s bullying. At eight weeks old, Aloysius was twice the size of his litter mate. But one of the things Dante had learned from being a runt and an eccentric was that he would have to fight for his place in the colony.  

“This is not what we do, Dante. And after the talk you had with Dad today, you know you should get rid of this,” he said, looking around at the works again, “whatever this is.”

Dante stood with limbs apart that were firmly planted into the ground. His red, ribbon scarf, an individual peculiarity, wound in silken waves around him. It was a puzzling image in his brother’s eyes. Aloysius bared his teeth.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult, Dante?”

“Why can’t you think for yourself?”

“The colony only works when we work together, do our part," Aloysius said. "We can’t all just follow our whims whenever they get caught in the wind, Dante. Unlike you, I think of the colony first.”

“Unlike you, I’m happy to weigh my personal happiness against the ridiculous demands of the colony."

The heavier of the two sized up the situation. “Clean this out,” Aloysius said. “If it’s not gone by week's end, I’ll do it myself.” The big rat turned and marched out. 

*******

Like most rats of the colony, Dante had grown up fully aware of the expectations that life had on him. And he had been more than willing to fulfill those expectations (really he hadn’t understood that he even had a choice), until this thing called art, and the feelings of self-expression, so casually upended his life. Now the idea of towing the line tasted like sand in his mouth. And his Dad’s most recent ask was more than he could take.  

How many rat colonies actually had Cat-Riding shows anyway?? he thought. It seemed bonkers, but his dad talked of several rural rat communities around the country who were big enough, sequestered enough from human society and just plain crazy enough to put on these suicidal shows. Certain families, like his, took on the responsibility, and held onto the tradition, of raising cat-taming daredevils. Then they'd put on these spectacles for the community. It was a show of rat strength and rat pride, he was told. He wasn’t sure how he even shared any DNA with these quackers in his family. 

But maybe his mother would listen. Maybe she'd understand that this custom of Cat-Riding was insane, and that his dad's insistence today to participate was too much. Sure, she threw her lot in with Dad whenever issues crept up at home, but perhaps if she knew the details, the particularity of his situation, she would understand. 

He found his mother gnawing at some bark under the grand oak tree that sat in front of the farmhouse. She saw him coming and spoke first.

“What’s on your mind, Squeak?” (as in, both, “Pipsqueak”, aka the runt, and the “loudest in the litter”, because, well, he was the runt.)

“I gotta talk to you, Mom.”

“I figured that. Is it about your talk with your dad today?” she said, mid-nibble.

“Yea.”

“Uh-huh," (nibble, nibble). I know being called up to ride can bring up certain emotions.” 

He wiggled his snout at her. “It’s more than that,” he said. She looked up from her nipping for a moment, then returned to the gnawing. “This rat life hasn’t made sense to me for a while now," he said.

“Make sense? It’s not supposed to make sense, Squeak. We’re all given a path, then we must walk it.”  

“That’s just it. I think I found another path.”

“Is that so? And just what is that?”

“I… I make things, and… it makes me feel good.” 

“You make things…”

“Yes, it’s called ‘art’.”

“Art?” she said. “It sounds like one of those made-up human words.”

“It’s not, Mom. It’s freedom, with no caveats, no strings attached. All I need is a pile of stuff and some time. Then… I soar.”

“Then you soar?... Like a bird? You have to let go of these silly notions, Dante.”  

“Why?”

“Because they are unhealthy.”

“Doing my art is about the healthiest thing I've ever done. It’s better than getting maimed in the arena tomorrow.”

A chilly wind shook some browning leaves loose from the mighty oak above and sent them drifting down in long arches over them. “You sound like me when I was your age," she whispered. "I called them… ‘dreams’.” He looked at her quizzically. She was talking more to herself now. “They commandeer your mind, and fill it with…” She blinked a few times. “They fill your mind with silliness, Dante. Now, that's enough.”

“But, Mom –.”

“You aren’t the first one to have to deal with this, Dante.”  He looked at her. He understood what she was saying. His heart went heavy. He had never seen his mom as one to give up. “No, Dante,” she continued. “I won’t speak anymore of it.” He could see something welling up in her, something she had buried for a long time.

“Mom, please –.”

A plastic bag fluttered overhead and caught his eye. He recognized it, by sight and by smell. A shock rushed through him as he scampered over to where it had come from. When he reached the front of the house, he found his art strewn across the farmhouse patio. A seething rage surged through his body. He looked around. From a hole beneath the front door, his brother Aloysius appeared carrying another mouthful of his belongings to the porch.  

“Aloysius!” Dante screamed. The bigger rat spat out the items from his mouth. He met his brother's eyes and knew what was coming. Young Dante bore down on his hefty brother, charging in fury. The two collided with a resounding thump.

“No!” Angelina screamed.

Dante dug his claws into his brother’s hide and bit down hard on an ear. Blood spiked into the air. Aloysius dragged his long claws into his brother’s belly, tearing the fur there and exposing pink, raw flesh. A heavy wallop struck Dante from behind and sent him skidding across the floor. The runt shook his head vigorously when he came to a stop, then gnashed his teeth and turned around. As he did, he looked up to see great paws against the ground. His father was standing over him, teeth bared and breathing heavy.  

“Enough!” the old rodent shouted.  

Dante glowered at his kin, his back arched and he puffed up like a viper. He bellowed a loud, shrill squeak, darted through a set of thornapple bushes, then disappeared up the hill.  

*****

That night a storm rolled through the sleepy valley. Dante had spent that time shivering under a bush on the north side of the old farm. His mind was a tangled mess. But somewhere inside of it a seed was planted. It took root after his father sent him flying across the patio. He had been nursing it and watering it all night under the evening storm. 

Finally, the idea bloomed and Dante wound his way back to the farmhouse. He walked past his belongings which were scattered in every direction and still blowing in the wind across the porch. He crawled into the old kitchen, and came back out with a small makeshift package, then he crossed the old driveway and made his way to the barn.  

When he got to the weathered shack, he crept warily, careful not to startle her. The big, ginger tabby was curled up in one of the many boxes the rats left out for her. She was sluggish because his father had just fed her. As he crawled closer, he wondered if she knew that she was in a prison of her own, one she could not see, one that trapped her in its creature comforts designed to immobilize her will. He’d planned to use her cat instincts against her too. But if his plan worked, maybe he could set two souls free in the morning.

“My, aren't you brave, little one, visiting my lair by your lonesome?" she said. The tabby purred and licked at her front paw.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Dante said.  

“And you didn’t come empty-handed either. Aren't you all the generous sort here?” she hissed.

“Yes, I do have something for you,” he said. He put the package of cat-nip down in front of him. “I wanted a word with you, my lady.”

“If you pass that over to me, we can talk.”

“I will, in a moment. Please, listen to what I have to say first.”

She considered pouncing on him and crunching his neck between her fangs. She purred and pawed at the box instead. It had been a while since she had the green leafy treat.  

“I’m all earssss,” she said.

*****

In the morning, the light creeping through a hole in the roof of the barn woke Dante. From the rafters, he looked down to see his family feeding the cat below. A throng was already forming in the large open area of the barn, a gathering that waited eagerly for him and the day’s Cat-Riding.  

He took a deep breath and bared his teeth. Then the little rat climbed down a pylon to the ground below.

“You made it,” his father said. “We weren’t sure you were going to show.”  

He looked at him. “I’m ready."  

His mother came to his side. “About yesterday, Dante.”

“It’s ok, mom.” He nuzzled her. “I’m alright.”  

He looked at her strangely. “Dante?” she said.

“Let’s go,” he said. He turned to find Aloysius behind the cat box, glaring at him. The rat’s right ear was caked in dried blood and a slice in the middle of it had a dim light shining through. The tabby's massive orange-striped tail hung over the edge of the box and above Aloysius's head. Dante nodded to his brother. “On my word,” he said to him.  

“Alright,” his father said, getting into position near the cat box. Dante placed his forepaws on his dad’s back. He could hear the giant tabby breathing in the box next to him. Could she be trusted? It was too late for any second-guessing now.

The little rat took a deep breath, then shouted, “Go!” His father thrusted him up in the air and into the box as Aloysius bit the tabby’s giant tail.

The colossal beast leaped up and darted across the straw-strewn barn floor with Dante on its neck. It circled the space. The rat audience roared with glee. Dante hung onto the poor beast’s ears, displaying all of the courage and strength the crowd and his family could hope for. The feline twisted and turned in the air, with Dante matching every move.

Dante could hear the hooting and the hollering as the cat pounced clear over the throng of on-lookers, out of the barn, and onto the farm road. They cheered and repositioned themselves, moving in unison, like a river of fur, to the side of the farmroad. They sat up on their haunches in amazement. 

Their calls of adulation filled his sensitive ears as the tabby galloped down the dirt track. “That is the best rider we’ve seen since Silvester several falls ago,” they said. “There goes Angelina and Xavier's boy, what a sight!”

The two jumped on to the long railing of the wooden fence that ran along the farm's perimeter. Dante's red ribbon-scarf waved feverishly in the wind. The mob cheered in awe. Never had they seen such vigor, such gallantry. The rat horde “ooohed” and “ahhhed” as the tabby-rat combo jumped into the bed of a nearby old Ford truck that was lazily climbing up the hill. They were still engaged in wrapped applause when the two reached the horizon.

A lightness overcame Dante's body as the rolling hills overtook his view. The young rat put his arms in the air as the vehicle glided up the incline. He was free. Finally, the two unlikely partners disappeared beyond the crest of the hill and headed towards the climbing sun – never to be seen again.