Annette Cats

Darkening skies brought the rain and inside Atticus mooched restlessly in and out of the kitchen. His eyes were still alert and his ears pricked but his tail hung low. In the grate the fire had almost gone out and it was getting cold. His master with a rug spread generously across his legs in his favourite chair lay sleeping. Isacc was hungry. It was a long time passed his feeding time and despite repeatedly going back to check his bowl was still empty. As his stomach growled more persistently he sat on his haunches and looked up at his master. He was a cat that was deeply troubled. Since he had been taken from his mother a very long time ago he had lived with his master. He knew his smell, the sounds that he made and his routine. He knew that the human sitting in the chair was his master but something was wrong.

Never had his master forgotten to feed him. Even when the old man had disappeared from the house for a while other humans had come and made sure there was food for him. Then he had returned and for the first time Atticus had noticed a difference in him. Gone was the lively man who spent hours working in his back garden, making all kinds of noises to be replaced by a man who hung his head and walked so very much slower. Other humans would also enter the house making noises he did not understand. One of them had tried to pick him up but feeling frightened and confused he had lashed out and they had backed off. They had left him alone. They put food in his bowl but he kept his distance for he did not trust them. He ran, crouched down low, hidden in the darkness, alone and listening, under the stairs until they had gone. Only when he was confident that his master was alone would he venture out.

Atticus did not know how to react to the changing events. The room was getting darker but still his master did not stir. Jumping up onto his knee he padded his chest with his paws. His alert green eyes watched intensely looking for any signs that he would awake. His masters head was pulled to once side resting on his shoulders. His eyes were deeply shadowed and sunken, his mouth was drawn and thin, pulled down in a fashion that Atticus could not comprehend. He knew this human was his master but the smell was wrong. Usually his master had a smell that tickled his nose and made his eyes water. He did not like it but it was a smell that he recognised. Gently standing his paws on his masters shoulders he put his nose up against his masters cheek and sniffed. He noticed the skin was cold when usually it was warm and his whiskers twitched as a strange smell evaded his nostrils. His hackles began to raise. He pulled his head back and scrutinised his masters face once more. This was the human that had looked after him all his life. A human that he could trust never to let him down and who had comforted him during the few times that he was sick and most importantly who had always fed him. It was almost totally dark now. Atticus felt unsettled but he knew his place was beside his master. Taking a last look at his familiar face he stepped down and curled up in his lap. He was also feeling tired and sleep was what was best for both of them. He knew for sure that his master would feed him in the morning.