Scribbled Stories

Time was running out. If Yeager and his gang got to the hideout before I did, there’d be the kind of Hell to pay that left nothing but body parts lying around, and the parts would undoubtedly belong to me.

The head start I’d gotten would help some, and the back way would too—assuming Yeager didn’t know the back way. Of course, I had my doubts about his being that stupid, but a girl could hope, right?

I was making excellent time, but with every inch I put between myself and my pursuers, I imagined I could hear them racing up behind me, and the uncanny silence that seemed to be all around was no help. In the woods, quiet almost always means bad.

I willed myself to go faster and managed to find a small reserve of energy I hadn’t tapped into. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sustain the pace at which I was moving for long, but if I was lucky, I’d get to the hideout before “long” was up.

Getting close. Getting so very close. Keep going. Just keep going. The words thumped in my head in time with my pounding heart, and suddenly—there it was! The hideout. Safety.

In that instant, I let myself believe things were going to be okay. Bad, bad idea. The only thing worse than quiet in the woods is what generally happens when the quiet turns into the kind of noise I heard gaining on me from behind. Just like thunder, the leaves and branches and other debris on the forest floor began rumbling in a wave moving closer to me.

I’m not going to make it. But, I have to make it. I have to, or. . .

YEAGER! Yeager—NO! BAD KITTY!

Silence again surrounded me—well, aside from the yelling, all was silent. The thunderous noise from the ground below had all but stopped, but I didn’t wait around to find out whether or not Yeager and his gang were going to listen to the voice: I zigged right and left and right again just in case they were still on me, but as I made that final zig, I flew right into the hideout’s opening, and the cover and comfort of darkness.

As my eyes adjusted, I took a head count: one, two, three, four—good, all four of my kids were still safe and sound. I fed them one by one while keeping an eye on the hideout’s entrance and an ear tuned to any sounds of climbing. All I heard was the sound of running water, and I chuckled to myself: that meant the voice had sprayed Yeager and company with water, and for reasons I don’t understand, the furry beasts hate the water.

Outside, I could hear the voice muttering something about strays being a bad influence, and I chuckled to myself once again. I knew the voice was nothing to fear, and I often wondered how a nice thing comes to care for a beast like Yeager.

I was pulled away from my thoughts by two of my brood, who were poking and prodding at me for more to eat, but my supply was exhausted, and so was I. I’d have to wait awhile before I ventured out again, and neither of the little ones was too happy about that detail. Kids.

I tried to entertain the children while I caught my breath, but they were all in a cantankerous mood: two because they were full and playful and two because they were still hungry. After an all-too-brief rest, I gave a quick word of warning to the youngsters and darted out of the hideout and back into the bright light of the mid-morning.

It wasn’t the going that put me in harm’s way: it was the collecting. On my way, I could remain out of the reach of Yeager and his friends, but eventually, I had to collect the food, and that was the problem: on the ground, I was no match for the furry beasts.

The routine was simple: I’d leave the hideout and head for the collecting area. Yeager and his gang—who seemed to have nothing better to do than to pester me—waited for me to leave and tracked me along the way. The game would really begin when I touched down to collect a bug here or a worm there.

Fortunately, Yeager and company were no match for my fancy wing-work, and I was often able to lose them when I bobbed and weaved between the area’s densely growing saplings.

Of course, even if I lost them, they knew I’d have to return to the hideout, and there were plenty of places nearby my family’s safe haven for the beasts to stalk me.

And so it went:

I left.
They followed.

I collected.
They pursued.

As I left, I saw Yeager and his gang lounging in the sun. I marveled at their laziness: it seemed they lived lives of pure leisure. I didn’t hold out hope they’d simply let me be, but when they were basking in the mid-day sun, they generally opted not to chase me until my return. I flew to a nearby collecting spot, but I didn’t drop my guard. My caution was unnecessary, however, as the furry beasts were not around.

I began the trip back—I still flew with caution—but as I neared the hideout, a welcome sound met me.

It was not the voice that came with the water to scare Yeager and his gang that I heard. It was the sound of the other furry beast that echoed through the air. The other furry beast was bigger and liked to chase Yeager and anyone he was with. The other furry beast had no interest in me: it just wanted Yeager and his gang, and when it showed up, Yeager and company scattered in as many directions as they could manage.

I enjoyed the last bit of my flight back to the hideout as I watched the game of chase going on below me. The other furry beast seemed content to run around and around and around even after chasing off Yeager and the rest of the gang. It looked to me as if he gloated over his power, and that was just fine as far as I was concerned.

Back at the hideout, I made quick work of distributing the day’s second course, then having finished my task, I poked my head out of the hideout’s opening, glanced at the now prone and panting other furry beast, and began to sing a song declaring my sheer pleasure.

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