Thunder meowed. He meowed and meowed until his throat was dry and he couldn’t manage one more squeak. He wanted to get out of this truck. This dark, depressing truck. Finally, he gave up and curled into a ball to sleep. But just as he was closing his eyes, the truck door opened and Thunder’s cage was taken out. His cage was then carried, the movement jostling Thunder and throwing him off balance, like a ship at sea. The cage door was opened and Thunder tried to run out, but strong hands grabbed him, picked him up, and placed him gently into another cage. There were other cages, rows upon rows of cages, all in a line, and all like his. People came and stared at him like they were at a zoo. They poked their fingers through the bars, trying to pet him. Thunder bit and scratched them. This must be a place where people bought cats and brought them to their homes, he realized. Why couldn’t he go home? Didn’t these people see he had another home? A home he needed to get back to? A home where people were waiting for him? Thunder curled up on the blanket that had been put in his cage and cried, meowing mournfully. The next morning, a hyper little girl and her tired-looking mother walked over to Thunder’s cage.
“Look, Mommy!!! A kitten! HE’S SO FLUFFY!!!!” the little girl shrieked. “Can we get him, Mommy?! PLEASE?!”
“No, dear, I’m afraid a kitten would be too much work. How about we get a fish instead?”
“NOOOOO!!!” the little girl shouted. “I WANT THE KITTY!” The girl’s mother sighed.
“All right, fine! But lower you voice Willie! You’re going to attract attention!” Willie crossed her arms but said nothing. Then they put Thunder in yet another cage, and put him in a car to drive him to their house. Willie heaved Thunder’s cage out of the car with her little arms and ran up the stairs, through the door, through a hallway, up more stairs, and into her room, her short, curly, dirty blond hair flying out behind her. She eagerly set the cage down on the ground and opened its door. Thunder flew out, racing as fast as he could down the stairs to the front door. But it had already been closed. Thunder meowed and pawed at the door, wishing it would open, but it wouldn’t budge. He turned when he heard Willie’s loud footsteps running down the stairs. Willie saw Thunder next to the door.
“You silly!” she said. “You’re going to stay with me now! We’re your family now! Me, my Mommy, and you! We’re going to have so much fun together!” Willie continued on at some length, talking about playing dress up, having tea parties, and other girly things that Thunder definitely did not want to do. Willie picked Thunder up and brought him back to her room, which she closed the door to, blocking Thunder from escaping. She then brought out a little cupcake costume (which would have been worn by one of her dolls) and stuck poor Thunder in it. Thunder hissed and clawed and scratched at Willie all the while. Wasn’t his fur enough? Why did he need this uncomfortable costume that limited his movement? Willie took a picture of Thunder with a little pink camera and giggled.
“Aww you look so cute!” Willie cried. “I need to show Mommy!” She scooped up Thunder and carried him downstairs into the kitchen where Wille’s mother was making sandwiches. “Look, Mommy! I put Fluffy in a cupcake costume!” Willie announced joyfully.
“That’s adorable dear,” her mother said, not even glancing at Willie and Thunder. “But are you sure that…Fluffy… likes playing dress up? Not all people and certainly not all cats like it.”
“Of course he likes it! And the costume too! Can’t you see how happy he looks?” Willie insisted. Thunder gave both of them his deepest glare. Willie sighed, but didn’t take the costume off (much to Thunder’s disappointment). Willie’s mother shrugged and handed her a plate with a sandwich.
“Here. Eat up,” she told Willie. Willie took the sandwich and dove in without sitting down, chewing with her mouth open and letting crumbs fall out. It was a disgusting sight. Willie paused a moment.
“Oh, I’m sorry Fluffy! I forgot my manners. Do you want some PB&J?” she asked politely, tearing off a piece of the sandwich and holding it out to Thunder. Thunder sniffed at it, then leaned back, away from the revolting “food”. He would take warm milk over that any day.
“Oh, sorry, Fluffy. I guess you don’t like sandwiches.” Willie said sadly.
That night, after hours of more dress up, squealing, shrieking, fashion shows, and general girliness, Willie finally stripped Thunder of all costumes. Finally! Mobility, sweet, sweet mobility! Thunder had to admit that was nice of Willie to make him a bed of his own and to place it next to hers, but he was still going to escape this tortuous place. While Willie slept, Thunder searched the house for an open window, or an open door, something, anything that he could squeeze into to get out. And then he found it, as he was walking down a hallway, he felt a breath of fresh air and all the smells that came with the outdoors. There, in the kitchen above the counter, was an open window! Oh, freedom! Glorious freedom was so close! Thunder jumped up to the counter, careful not to make a sound, and crept to the window. Then, finally, he leapt out into the night. Into freedom.
Pen & Whiskers Press 