Into the Wild: Chapter 1
Rusty attention was caught by the sound of leaves rustling on the forest floor.
He opened his mouth to scent the air, ears pricked as he sought the scent of the little creature crawling through the grass. The brush surrounding him made it impossible for him to see the creature, but it’s behavior also gave it away. It did not know it was being hunted as it scurried among the roots of the great oak, seeking its own food.
Stomach aching, Rusty resisted the urge to rush his hunt. His movements were smooth as he lowered himself into a low crouch. As he eased himself forward, one pawstep at a time, soundless as he moved over the ground, he kept his eyes locked on the place when the mouse’s scent came from. Once he was close enough, he stilled, all four paws on the ground, carefully measuring the distance between himself and the hapless mouse.
Then he launched himself forward.
At the sudden movement, the mouse started. It fled, dove for it’s tunnel just ahead of his claws, but Rusy was faster. He trapped the mouse under his claws and sank his teeth into its neck. The mouse squeaked, squirming in his grasp, and as it did so Rusty’s concentration was broken by a strange rattle. Ears twitching, Rusty looked up from his hunt. Familiar, but just out of reach, the sound only grew louder. While he was distracted, the mouse tore itself from his grip and fled.
A helpless fury rose up in him, and he bounded forward to give chase, only to watch his prey disappear into the roots of the oak tree. Rusty turned back toward the sound, determined to discover what had interrupted his hunt. He ducked into the thick brush, closing his eyes to ward off the brambles, and pressed his way through the bush.
Rusty blinked awake, the light blinding.
Baffled, he sat up. He lay on the soft pillows on the couch, the voices of his housefolk bubbled in the background, and the sound that had woken him emanated from the kitchen. When he turned to look, he found that his housefolk was filling his bowl with the round pellets that they fed him at night.
Rusty shook himself free of the blanket, the bell on his collar ringing obnoxiously, and lept to the floor. He trotted into the stifling kitchen to sniff at the bowl. Above him, the housefolk cooed, but the scent of mouse was still fresh from his dream. He paused at the water the housefolk had set out for him, lapped at it, before turning toward the door flap.The housefolk called after him, and he knew that if he turned back now they would greet him with gentle words. They would caresses his fur and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, warm, in the crook of a bent knee.
Rusty did not want warmth and care. He did not want to purr as his housefolk picked him up. He wanted to run and hunt. Without so much as looking back, he ducked through the door flap and ventured into the garden.
Outside, the moon was bright and the rain was beginning to slow. He padded down the tidy garden path, the stones sharp and cold under his paws, to the tall fence that marked the limits of his garden. One of his favorite places to sit was one of the many posts in the fence, placed so he could see into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of his fence.
The gardens were bathed in moonlight, but beyond him the woods were darkened by shadows. Rusty inhaled deeply, the crisp smell of the woods fresh after the rain filtering through the cloying smell of the flowers behind the fence. He shifted slightly, tensing his muscles as he debated leaping down the fence.
“You shouldn’t go in there.” Rusty started, turning to find a familiar black-and-white cat dragging himself up the fence to join him.
“That’s what you always say,” Rusty replied, standing to move closer to the other cat, who dug his claws into the fence as Rusty’s weight caused it to tremble ever so slightly. He carefully turned atop the fence to face him, slipped, and only barely caught himself.
“And I’m right. It’s dangerous!”
“You don’t know that.” Rusty scoffed. “You’ve never been into the woods, Smudge.”
“Henry went into the woods once.” Smudge retorted, flicking his tail uncomfortably. “He said that there were tufts of fur and bones everywhere, left by huge wildcats who eat live rabbits for breakfast and sharpen their claws on old bones”
“He also said he caught a robin.” Rusty pulled his gaze from the forest to his friend, laughing softly. “He’s fat and lazy, I don’t think he’s ever so much as left his garden.”
“Violet said so too.” Smudge continued as if Rusty hadn’t spoken. “She said that the cats in the woods are dangerous. Tigger said he’s even seen them!”
“Tigger’s younger than us, he can barely make it up his fence! And even Violet never lived in the woods. What do they know?”
Smudge scowled, turning his amber eyes to the woods. “You’ve asked every cat in this neighborhood about the woods, even Bella in her house, and they all agree. The cats in the woods are dangerous.”
“Not one cat we spoke to said they’ve seen these forest cats, just that they somehow know they’re dangerous. Why would I believe cats who have never been into the forest?”
“They haven’t been into the forest because it’s dangerous, Rusty! Violet says that the cats in there use the bones of cats to file their claws!”
“File their claws on the bones of cats? They can’t be very large forest cats, then.” Rusty huffed. He peered down at the ground and leapt down in one movement, landing neatly at the base of the fence, bell jingling with every movement. Then he turned to look at Smudge. “Look, I just want to take a look around. Henry made it back, didn’t he?”
“I thought you didn’t believe Henry?” Smudge protested, amber eyes huge as he stared down at Rusty at the ginger tom trotted away. “Rusty?”