Cat Breaking Free by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Page A

the functions of lock and key, they could not have manipulated such a tool. It would take fingers to do that, and opposable thumbs; these were among the few blessings they wished they possessed along with their ability to speak and understand human language.
    The hinges and joints of the cage were welded, too, so there was no way they could force them apart. Their only chance of escape was when, once a day, Luis’s sister, Maria, removed and changed the litter box—except that Luis was always there, watching her. Luis would unlock the cage, then slam the door shut the instant Maria pulled out the litter box. He would slam and lock the door again when she’d put the box back inside. She seldom changed the sand, just scooped out the wet and dirty part, so the box stank bad. That made the food and water taste bad. Even the air tasted like poop. Willow felt sick all the time, confined so. All she wanted to do was growl and hiss and hunch to herself and not eat. She thought they’d die there. She longed for the green hills and fresh winds, for cold fresh water.
    She even longed for the clowder of cats they had run with, even as mean as those cats were, even as much as she feared the leaders. She was not a brave cat; she felt safer in the clowder than trying to survive alone.
    From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes, then the men’s voices rose, and they went stumping down the hall to the front bedroom. She could smell their stink of beer beneath the closed door like a sour wind, she could taste the beer smell.
    She heard Maria come awake in one of the two beds, her breathing suddenly quicker and shallower. But, wary of the men’s approach just as Willow herself was, Maria lay still and made no sound. Only when both men had used the bathroom and gone back into the bedroom and shut the door, only when at last they could be heard snoring, did Maria settle down once more, pull the covers over her face, and go back to sleep.
    Willow didn’t sleep. She paced the cage, stepping around the sleeping forms of white Cotton, and dark tabby Coyote of the long, canine-like ears. Ever since they’d been trapped, she didn’t sleep until she was so exhausted she could no longer hold her eyes open. Pacing, she thought about where this house must be in relation to the hills south of the village where they were captured. How foolish they had been to get caught, to trust those spliced bungee cords that had come apart and let the three traps spring closed. Their only excuse was that those traps had been rigged like no other they’d ever seen.
    Usually, the door to a cage-trap was held open for a week or more with a brightly colored, elastic bungee cord, and new food would be added every day. Thiswas meant to lure a cat inside again and again, they all knew that. They all knew it was safe to snatch out the food when a bungee cord was in place—but that when the bungee was gone, no matter how delicious the bait smelled, no sensible cat would go near.
    How unfair, that these three traps had been rigged differently. Once the doors had sprung closed behind them, they’d been as helpless as mice skewered in their own claws.
    Someone had known what kind of cats they were. But why did these humans want them? Willow’s fears combined with the stink and the sour food and the crowding were becoming nearly intolerable. She had never known, until she was caged, how very dear was her freedom. How precious was their ability to run free across the grassy hills, to curl down at night in the leaves or bushes in the cool wind, looking up at the vast sky and endless stars.
    All that was gone now, and Willow was afraid.
    She thought about that horrible noisy ride down the hills in a tiny cage tied on the back of the motorcycle, its roar so loud that their ears nearly burst. They had been shaken, thrown against each other, and miserably cold in the sharp wind. That terrible fear and noise and cold had left her shivering