Seattle, Manhattan, and Chicago

The floor was incredibly cold as my paws treaded silently on the frozen tile.  I could see why the animal shelter was so cold all the time.  It must be built in the middle of Lake Michigan, close enough to Chicago to be called Chicago’s Humane Society.  My tail hovered mutely over the floor as I crept past the sleeping cats and dogs.  My heart clenched as I saw a mother cat shivering in her sleep, her kittens huddled to her scarce warmth.  

The two-foot metal cubes the humans forced the cats into were often filthy and reeked of rotten food and kitty litter.  The cats’ chambers covered one wall, five of the compartments stacked on top of one another, seven cubicles across.  Inside, a thin, dirty, threadbare blanket was shoved in, along with a minuscule litter box and a food and water bowl.  Living in the Humane Society my entire life, I realized over the months that every cat was treated the same--like trash.  I had picked my way through the locks with my claws, something that I had perfected since last month.   I stopped lurking around, looking across the way to the dogs.

If it was even possible, the dogs’ living space was even worse.  In the chain-link fenced area, all the dogs lived together, slabs of plywood separating the dogs from killing each other.  In each four-foot by five-foot space, three dogs were forced together, sharing one large food bowl and one large water bowl.  The only time the dogs were walked was during the summer when some teenage humans volunteered at this shelter.  Luckily, they grew attached and often adopted a few felines and canines and funded the center.  One ambitious 14-year-old actually held a bake sale that kept the center going for the past few years.  At least, that’s what I heard from the old dogs in Kennel 12.

I took a small breath that cleared my senses.  Tonight, I was going to escape.  Unlocking the kennel door with my claw was one thing, but actually stepping outside, in the wind and sun, was totally different.  I glanced over my left ear, eyeing my own kennel.  The door was securely locked, with the blanket huddled to one side.  That would convince the people that I was still there for at least a few hours, but right now, I had to work on staying hidden.  

The only light drifted from a dirty window, next to the dogs’ kennels.  I silently glided over, watching the large, white circle with awe.  It was so indescribably bright, but my eyes widened moreso, my pupils shrinking to slits.  Hopping up lithely onto the windowsill, I stared at the bustling city laid in front of me.  Cars and bikes maneuvered awkwardly through the lamp-lit streets, a distant siren and laughing playing quietly.  Colorful, dirty scraps of plastic littered the concrete, along with cigarette butts and ashes.  This was Chicago, or at least a small part of it.

Abandoning the window, I padded out the doorway and took one last sad glance at the kennels and cages, hoping the best for all the poor souls still trapped in there.  Suddenly, light burst from a door thrown open, momentarily blinding me.  

“One escaped!”  Blinking with panic, I darted blindly away from the voice, only to collide with a human’s leg.  Hissing in fake anger, I dashed away from the people and into the welcoming darkness.  Darn it, I forgot a few humans took a late shift tonight!  Adrenaline rushed through me, and I whirled through the unfamiliar corridors, searching for the doors.  Those legendary doors either led you to freedom or to a life wasted away in the animal shelter.  I heard from newcomers that they were made of glass, transparent and slathered with stickers and dirt.  I was stalking through a seemingly absent hallway when a pair of hands grabbed me.  

“Ow!” the person exclaimed as I bit and clawed the hands.  I scrambled away, my claws clicking rapidly on the cold ground.  I could hear the dogs and cats waking up, and I let out a loud meow, alerting I was on the run and it was good time for them to make a break for it.

I dodged through a doorway, barely escaping a bucket thrown by a half-crazed man, and saw a pair of doors gaping open, a woman with a suitcase stepping out of the shelter.  Making a mad sprint for my freedom, my paws tore to the street, to the outside, to the beginning of a new, free life.