By Nicole Bernard
The harsh din of dogs snarling and growling rose up to the luminescent full moon that shone down lustrously on an old abandoned warehouse situated in a dirty back street downtown. Inside the aging walls and boarded windows, a vicious brawl was going on between two pit-bulls. The howls and yips of bystanders placing their bets and cheering on their contender filled the dusty air. The warehouse still bore its faded sign, Cozy Candle Corner, from its former years as a candle warehouse, but now functioned as a fight club for the city’s feral animals and was known on the street as “The Triple C”. In the dimly lit basement below, Tyrone, a sly Siamese with a dark face and lissome body, shot a leery glance at the bag of catnip on the table in front of him. He looked up with his shifty blue eyes at the large, furry body across the table. Big Daddy Deshawn sat condescendingly with a smug grin on his face. His entourage of lady tabbies gazed dotingly on his long whiskers and menacing furry mane.
“I’ll give you two mice for it, tops,” Tyrone proposed.
“Nah, man, you tryin’ to mess with me here? How you expect me to make a decent living selling nip for two mice a sack?” Big Daddy Deshawn replied as he flashed his diamond-grill studded fangs. Tyrone scowled in disgust. He slunk away from the table, giving the impression he was out of the deal, and right when Big Daddy Deshawn began to turn his attention back to his lady tabbies, Tyrone turned around with lightning quick speed and seized the sack of nip in a single swoop. In the same instant he was up the stairs and out of sight. Seething with rage, Big Daddy Deshawn mewled out in wrath and bolted up the stairs, right after Tyrone. The two cats tore down the back street away from the fight club at breakneck speed. They darted in and out of alleys, across busy streets, through the graveyard on the outskirts of town, and finally ended up at the train station. Tyrone, having significantly less pudge than Big Daddy Deshawn to haul around, began to gain more and more distance between them, and so, believing he was safe, he slowed to a stop and rested behind a light pole. Just as he began to catch his breath, Big Daddy Deshawn appeared out of seemingly nowhere and made a flying leap toward Tyrone. Quickly coming to his senses, Tyrone bolted away as fast as his legs could carry him. However, fueled by massive amounts of adrenaline and rage, Big Daddy Deshawn was closing in fast. Tyrone spotted a train that was pulling away from the station. In a moment of brilliance, be darted straight for an open hopper car and right as Big Daddy Deshawn was making his final fatal pounce, Tyrone leaped into the car and sped off down the track, leaving Big Daddy Deshawn furiousy hissing in the dust. In his exhaustion, Tyrone dragged his weary body to an empty crate and fell into a deep sleep.
Tyrone was started awake by a loud whistle and the train jolting to a stop. With eyes still closed, he shot out his paw to catch his nip that was rolling away, claws outstretched. He slowly retracted it back to his groggy body, gave a drowsy yawn, and arched his back in a stretch. Deciding it was best to understand his new surroundings; he hopped out of the car and pranced away from the depot. He was not in the midst of a bustling train station, but, rather, a quick country stop in a tiny one-horse town. Tyrone slunk around, peeping in and out of the general store, sniffing around the lumber mill, and exploring other such places. But when a tiny yellow butterfly fluttered past his ears, his inner kitty instincts could not be hindered and he began to playfully chase it around. It eventually led him back to the store and into the bed of an old, blue truck. Still highly enthralled with his little dainty prey, Tyrone didn’t even notice the truck beginning to back away and speed off down the road. When the truck began to pick up enough speed, the butterfly was swept away in a gust of wind, leaving Tyrone sitting very confused and disoriented in the back of a foreign truck, its distance from the town ever increasing. Tyrone simply rolled his glassy blue eyes and curled up next to a hay bale, tucking his nip safely underneath his arms.