Smokey

In the past few weeks, my home had turned into the wildest playground a cat could dream of. There were boxes everywhere, things were not where they belonged, and the walls, which were usually filled with artwork, pictures, and decorations, had been emptied my humans. Luna, Blue, Cheddar and I had become quite confused, if not a little alarmed, by our family’s actions. So we decided to hold a pet meeting in our room. Well, it was the cat room, really, and Blue wasn’t allowed inside it according to our people, but they were so distracted with their boxes that he was able to sneak in.

“Something is happening,” Luna stated from her regal perch at the top of the cat tree. “Something big.”

“Thanks a lot, Captain Obvious,” Cheddar flicked his tail and blinked lazily beside me.

Luna hissed at him and turned to Blue to back her up.

“No, no, she’s right, Cheddar,” he insisted, scratching aggressively beneath his collar. He refused to admit it, but he had a terrible case of fleas. Leah had bathed him twice already, and given him medication, but there were still some that got under his skin. (Heh heh, I just made a joke…) “They’ve been talking about moving out of Florida.”

“Moving?” I asked.

“Yeah, like how Luna used to live with her brothers at Grandma’s, or how you and Cheddar used to live with that woman, but now you live here. Humans do that, too.” I shuddered at the memory. When I was a kitten, I lived with a hoarder who didn’t take very good care of me. I was crawling with fleas even though I never left my cage, and I was very frail. But then I was rescued by my humans’ friend. She took me out of that house along with Cheddar and gave me to Leah and her family. I was so small that I could fit in the palm of her hand and needed to be fed by a bottle. Only a few days after living with them, I got really, really sick because of the fleas. I was scared that I was going to die, and Leah was, too. They fed me medicine and kept me warm at all times, and finally my health started improving. They gave me flea baths and I just grew and grew until I was eleven pounds. (Which is heavier than Blue!)

I cocked my head at the canine. “Why would they move?”

“Seasons,” Cheddar spoke up, startling us all. “They’re moving somewhere where there’s more seasons and where they’ll be closer to their family. Also so they can go to this school that they found.” He shrugged away our baffled expressions. “What? I listen in on their conversations.”

“Wait a minute.” Luna jumped down from the cat tree, her eyes big and worried. “What if… what if they don’t bring us all?”

I shifted nervously, and Blue started scratching again, claiming that “All this stress makes my allergies flare up.” Even Cheddar was uncomfortable. Despite his aloof disposition, he really loved our family, humans and pets alike.

“But—they wouldn’t do that,” I shook myself, trying to put that worry out of my mind. “They love us!”

Luna didn’t look so sure. “Fierceclaw used to be a house cat too, but his family moved away and left him here. I’m not saying that our family would do that,” she said hurriedly, seeing our dismayed expressions, “but… they might rehome us.”

That was definitely not a happy thought.

I needed some sort of reassurance… After the meeting ended— which was very soon, because our humans saw Blue in the cat room and made him get out— I went upstairs to Leah’s room where I found her writing in her diary. I leaped onto her bed and meowed at her, swishing my tail while I waited for a response. Usually, when I meow, she meows back. Her accent isn’t purrfect, but she’s pretty good as far as humans go. But today she didn’t meow. She just reached for me and hugged me close. I nuzzled her and started to purr as she stroked my fur. We cuddled like that for a few minutes before she let go and picked up her pink pen again. I laid beside her and started to knead her side, my eyes closing. But then something strange happened. Her breathing got ragged and she covered her face. She was… leaking. I licked a drop of water from her cheek and she moved away like she did whenever I got too close to her face.

I meowed at her, scared. Why was she distressed? I’d only see her cry a few other times before, and it made me uncomfortable. But when she started to talk to me, I understood. She said she was scared to move. Florida was all she’d ever known, and she’d grown up in our house. Plus, when they moved, she was going to be going to a school. She’s been homeschooled for six years, and she said that first grade was a lot different than eighth. And then she started laughing while crying, which looked a little hissterical. She said it was ironic because she actually did want to move; she wanted to go to school, she wanted to start fresh. But she said that change was scary, and everything seemed out of her control.

I wasn’t sure how I could help her. If she couldn’t make herself feel safe, and she was human, what could I do? I’m just a cat, eleven pounds of fluff. But as she continued talking, I realized I was helping her, just by sitting there. Every time I nuzzled her hand, meowed, or started to purr, she smiled and gave me a kiss on my forehead, and once she was sufficiently cheered up, I went back downstairs to play with Cheddar.

I couldn’t ever make her understand me, but I hope she knows that she does have control over her future, and that she doesn’t need to worry about school. I think she’s amazing, and so does her family. I believe that everything will turn out the way it’s meant to be, even if it seems hard right now.

And who knows? Maybe she thinks so too!