A shutting car door made Mooky jump in his sleep the next morning, effectively waking him up.

Once he was certain that no one was coming after him, he glanced across the street and spotted the source of the noise: a vehicle was sitting in the driveway of that empty yellow house that he'd spied out last night.

The vehicle was large, shaped like a square, and had big tires. Mooky's curiosity piqued as he watched two human males climb out of either side of the front of the car and move around to the rear, thrusting open the large rolling door in the back. An array of cardboard boxes lay within, neatly stacked against one another.

Oh, that was it! That was a moving van. He remembered his previous owners using one when they'd moved into a new, bigger house years ago.

He sniffed angrily at the memory of his former owners and refocused on the van. The two men were beginning to unload the boxes, placing them on the damp driveway and in the dewy grass. It looked like the yellow house wasn't going to be empty for much longer. Mooky frowned. Pity. He'd planned on somehow making it his abode, his territory, since everyone other cat on the block seemed to have one.

Oh well.

Mooky's stomach growled, right on time, like some sort of organic alarm. I know, I know, he thought to his poor belly. He set his teeth. No fooling around today. He had to get a decent amount of food, or else he probably wouldn't last the next couple of days, let alone the entire week. Scary cats, territorial cats, rude cats or no, he was going to get his hands on some cat food one way or another before the sun set.

But first... Mooky cast his eyes around the street. From this high up in the tree that had been his abode for the past wet, chilly night, he had a perfect view of the entire cul-de-sac, and could even glimpse a part of the highway that lay somewhere beyond the neighborhood. And from what he could see, that fluffing dog was not out — Kenny must've come and dragged the mutt back to its yard after Mooky had fallen asleep last night.

But just in case, Mooky strained his ears. Nope, no barking — just the sound of those two men moving their boxes and the din of the distant highway. It was safe to climb down.

Slowly, Mooky made his way down the tree, shaking out his damp pelt when he reached the bottom. It had been a hard night — besides having to endure the constant hunger pangs, he'd also had to put up with the heavy rain, which had fallen for an hour before it had finally let up. Just for Mooky, if his streak of bad luck was any indication.

But he shook it off. No point in wallowing in self-pity. It was a new day.

He padded down the side of the street, dodging a couple of moving cars as he made his way into the heart of the cul-de-sac. He glanced at Lizzy and One-ear's houses as he passed, and was surprised to find them both out on their porches, Lizzy with her litter of frisky kits bumbling over each other and One-ear reclining on his porch swing with his son. He had the strangest feeling that it was because of him that they were out so early — maybe to guard their food bowls from a dine-and-dasher? How rude.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!"

Mooky screeched and hurled himself into LoLo's yard, scrambling underneath the bush he'd hidden under just yesterday when scoping out LoLo's bowl. It took him a full minute of panting to realize that he wasn't being chased by that blasted dog, but the mutt was indeed out of its yard — on a leash. Kenny was locking the front door of his house, and when he finished, he led the dog out to the street. The mongrel looked around wildly, probably trying to figure out where Mooky went, then reluctantly idled by Kenny's side — only to bark again as they passed Lizzy's house. Mooky could hear the kittens mewling from fright.

A walk. Kenny was taking the dog on a walk.

Well, that's a relief. Mooky seriously doubted that he had the strength to run up another tree just yet.

A nearby noise drew his attention: Mooky glanced up onto LoLo's porch to see that old hunched woman making her way out the door, bearing a can of cat food. Just the sight of it made Mooky's stomach rumble like an earthquake. As she stooped and scraped the food into the food dish, LoLo rubbed up against her legs, purring in appreciation. The old woman petted LoLo's head as the cat began to eat before retreating inside.

Mooky watched, his tail thrashing in jealousy, his belly continuing to howl. Lucky furball. For the second time since he'd entered the cul-de-sac, Mooky wished that he hadn't bailed on his owners so quick, or thought that he could survive just fine without them. It was becoming abundantly clear that he couldn't: he hadn't just depended on them for scratches behind the ear or belly rubs. They had provided him with a steady supply of food and water — something he'd up till now taken for granted.

What to do... Wait until LoLo got tired, took another nap? That had worked out so well last time. Run up to the food dish, hiss, cuff him over the ear, fight him? That was a thought, but Mooky wasn't a fighter — the only reason he ever unsheathed his claws was to file them down on a random tree.

So what could he—?

"Just gonna stand there and watch while that old mongrel stuffs his face in front of you?"

Mooky nearly leapt out of his fur. He bristled as he swerved around and saw a white cat crouched behind him, his lima-bean-green eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Who are you?" Mooky demanded, embarrassed that the cat had snuck up on him — he probably hadn't been able to hear anything over his snarling belly.

The cat ignored his question and said, "Well? You want that food or not?"

Puzzled by this cat and his sudden interest, Mooky said, carefully, "Uh, well, LoLo made it pretty clear that I wasn't welcome to share it with him."

The cat chuckled. "That mangy old cat's as territorial as they come," he said. "Welp, I'm due for a little fun today anyway. Wait until it's clear, then go and get your food."

"What?" Mooky stared as the long-legged cat padded out of the bushes and passed the nose of the car before heading towards the porch steps. What was he doing? Was he...was he helping him? Why?

"What do you think you're doing?" LoLo's voice — he didn't sound happy. "Trespassing on my territory so early in the morning? Do you have a death wish?"

"Just taking a walk, stretching my legs, old friend," the white cat said in a friendly voice. "No harm in that, right?" He rubbed against the porch steps before lifting his tail and...spraying the steps!

Mooky gasped. Oh no he didn't. Spraying another cat's territory? Capital offense.

LoLo shared the sentiment: with a shriek, the gray cat launched himself down off of the porch. "You're dead, fleaball!" he screeched.

Meowing with laughter, the white cat dodged a swipe from LoLo and took off, crossing the yard in two bounds before stopping at the mailbox and spraying it too.

"Stop that!" LoLo yowled, hurtling after the white cat — the other feline had no trouble staying ahead of the old furball. They took off down the street, disappearing as they dashed down into the valley of Lizzy's yard.

Hey, what are you doing? Mooky snapped out of it. LoLo had left his bowl! His food was free for the taking!

Hurriedly, Mooky made his way into the yard and took the steps three at a time. His belly rumbled nastily when he reached LoLo's food bowl — praise the heavens, it was full of cat food! Mooky licked his chops greedily but paused, casting a careful glance around, making sure it was clear, before dipping his head down in the bowl. He didn't have much time, he reckoned, before LoLo decided to return to his yard, so he took huge bites, barely tasting the food as it went down.

But what he did taste was delicious. It made his hunger intensify, but this time, he had plenty of food to tame the pangs that gripped his belly. He kept biting, kept gulping, kept repeating, until the bowl was practically empty and his stomach was blissfully full.

Right on time, too — a glance down into the street showed the white cat running back into the center of the cul-de-sac, with LoLo still chasing after him. The old gray cat skidded to an alarmed halt when he saw Mooky on his porch.

"Hey!" he shrieked. "What do you think you're doing?"

Mousetails! Time to go. Mooky hurtled down the porch steps and bolted back into Lizzy's yard, then kept going, crossing the street and ducking under a hedge. He turned around and peeked out from under his hiding place, but thankfully, LoLo seemed to be too tired to give chase.

"Ha! Spinning that old tomcat's tail around gives you a nasty little thrill, doesn't it?"

"MEOW!" Mooky jumped so high he nearly rocketed out of the top of the hedge. The surprise had come from the long-legged, speckled white cat from earlier. He now crouched behind Mooky, his eyes glittering with mischief.

"You nearly scared the fur off of me!" Mooky cried.

"Sorry, friend, couldn't help it: I just love messing with people." The white tomcat crawled past Mooky and out from underneath the hedge, into the sunlight, and Mooky, after checking to make sure that LoLo was nowhere nearby, followed carefully.

"Oh," the tom said, "and you're welcome for the assist."

"Er, yes, thanks," Mooky said, coming to sit beside the cat. "I kind of feel sorry for LoLo though." It couldn't be nice, being so thoroughly hoodwinked like that: chasing madly after the cat who'd sprayed your territory — twice — only to find another feline on your porch, munching on your Meow Mix. Mooky thought about going back to LoLo's house sometime later and apologizing for the entire debacle...but decided against it. He liked his face, after all. Claw-mark free.

The white tom gave Mooky's previous statement an incredulous glance. "You're feeling for the fleabag?" he snorted. "Redirect some of that pity to yourself. From the look of things, you've had a right streak of bad luck."

Understatement. "Yes, I suppose so. The cats around here aren't very generous with their food."

"Well, would you be, in their situation?"

Good point. "So why'd you help me, then?"

"Guess I just felt sorry for you," the white tom said as he padded into the street. Mooky followed. "I heard from Lizzy that there was some mangy newcomer trolling past the houses, trying to score some grub. And it was just so pathetic, watching old LoLo run you from his porch. So I decided to lend a paw."

"Pathetic!" Mooky exclaimed. It wasn't his fault that all the cats—and squirrels, and birds—on the block were so selfish!

"Hey, I call it like I see it."

Mooky hmphed, trying not to let the insults ruffle his fur. Objectively, all that scrambling about had been rather undignified. "Well, pathetic...or not," he said reluctantly. "Thanks for your help."

"Like I said, friend, anything to twist that old tom about. Been a pain in the tail since he moved down the block." The tom flicked his tail, as if suddenly annoyed by old memories.

"What's your name?" Mooky asked curiously.

"Susan."

That threw Mooky for a loop, enough to actually make him stop mid-stride. "Susan?" he repeated, wondering if he'd heard correctly. The white tom turned to face him, eyes narrowed.

"Got a problem with my name?" he growled. "It's short, pretty, and classy."

"And female," Mooky pointed out mildly, doing his best not to chuckle. Susan's shoulder fur bristled out, and he added hastily, "B-but yes, classy, very classy."

Susan snorted and whipped back around, a flick of his ears showing that he'd forgiven Mooky for the offhand insult. "Let's not forget about you if we're chuckling about odd names," he meowed. "Mooky was it?"

The cat had a point: "Mooky" was rather unimaginative and unorthodox. But still! Susan? His owners must've been drinking something strange when they'd given this roguish prankster that name.

***

Susan and Mooky headed to the end of the cul-de-sac, the rising sun heating the pavement beneath their feet. Mooky saw, with some apprehension, that LoLo was sitting out in his driveway, his eyes cold and uncomfortably penetrating as they watched the two cats pad into the circle of asphalt.

"Oh, relax," Susan said. "That old furball won't bother us, don't worry." He lifted his voice into a yell, making Mooky flinch. "I'm sure he's nice and tuckered out after that goose chase we sent him on. Eh, Mooky?"

Mooky tensed when LoLo rose to his paws, fully prepared to bolt back down the street, but the old tomcat only shouted, "You're going to get yours one day, Susanna! The next time you set paw into my yard, I'm going to teach you to respect your elders!"

"See?" Susan said with a roll of his eyes. "He's no threat." He padded forward, and after an uncertain look behind him, Mooky followed, leaving a gasping LoLo crouched in his driveway.

They paused as they reached the edge of another driveway, and the white tom gave the house standing before them an appreciative once-over. "Ah, home sweet home."

The house was a dark brown two-story with a spacious porch, reached by way of a brick staircase with wooden railings. Two trees stood in the small yard: one large pine and a smaller evergreen. Both of them eclipsed the entire abode with their canopies, spreading long shadows; Mooky noticed a distinct drop in temperature as the two cats passed beneath them. The added morning breeze was a bonus.

Susan led the way along the yard's brick walkway and up the steps, to the porch, which, like One-ear's, had a swing large enough to accommodate several humans. Mooky paused as he reached the top of the steps — an unfamiliar cat sat in the porch swing, dozing peacefully as the it rocked gently back and forth. He had a bluish-gray pelt and looked small and stocky, his tail short and curled around his haunches. The tail began flicking in muted surprise when the two other cats appeared at the top of the steps.

Susan surprised Mooky by leaping up onto the swing beside the cat, saying, "Oh, don't mind him. That's just the Russian, my housemate."

The blue-gray cat lifted his head and greeted Mooky with a lazy flick of his ears. "You must be that stray I've been hearing about," he meowed. His blue eyes narrowed. "Hmm...you're not as scrawny as I thought you'd be."

Scrawny! Mooky rapidly licked his shoulder fur to keep from bristling. He'd had it up to here with the insults today. Why couldn't these thick-headed cats see that he'd been as much of a housecat as they were just days ago?

Susan cuffed the Russian lightly about the ear. "At least he's persistent," he said, giving Mooky a good-natured look. "Survived a day without food, which is more than I can say for you and your bottomless stomach!"

The Russian snorted and swiped playfully at Susan before saying, "Mooky, you look exhausted. Come up here with us and rest."

Gratefully, Mooky leapt up onto the swing beside Susan and circled around twice before settling down. He couldn't help but purr in delight at the softness of the cushions. He hadn't realized how creaky his joints were until now — he supposed that nearly starving, running from dogs and hostile cats, chasing evasive fauna, getting soaked by heavy rain and, to top it all off, crouching in a rickety old tree for one night could do that to a cat.

Susan and the Russian began to wash, and Mooky followed suit, licking a paw and drawing it over his ear. It was a beautiful day to sit out and tongue-comb your fur — midmorning had arrived, bathing the entire cul-de-sac in strengthening sunlight. A crisp breeze tempered the rising temperature, rustling the trees.

Mooky paused in cleaning his claws, looking up at the evergreen as it oscillated gently in the wind. Wistfully, he remembered his own yard, back before he'd been aban— Back when he'd been living with his owners. They would let him out in the morning to do his business, and after he would retire to the porch to wash himself. And when he was done, he would sit and enjoy the weather, and stare up at the tall tree that stood in the middle of the yard, the one with the floppy green leaves that always rattled annoyingly at the slightest breath of wind.

He sighed heavily, his stomach turning at the memory. His own house, his own yard, his own food, protection... It was hard to believe that all of that was gone, all in the time it took to drop him on his rump on the side of the road. It was disheartening, and above all, it was unfair! Even now, he couldn't figure out why his owners had just dropped him and left him. He shuffled his paws in frustration, flexing his claws. What had he done wrong?

"That was a heavy sigh." The Russian's voice brought Mooky out of his brooding. He turned to see the bluish-gray cat watching him; beside him, Susan was cleaning his forepaws. "Something on your mind, Mooky?"

"Just thinking about my owners," he said miserably.

Susan's ears straightened in surprise. "You had owners?" he rasped.

Mooky huffed indignantly. They really do think I'm a mangy stray! "Yes," he said impatiently. "Up until a day ago, in fact."

Susan glanced at the Russian, who said, curiously, "What happened?"

Mooky opened his mouth to speak, but paused. It embarrassed him enough, remembering how he'd been left, on a whim, stranded on the side of the road. He honestly didn't need these cats thinking that he was more pathetic than he already seemed.

"Well, er...you know," Mooky said evasively. "Things."

"Things?" The Russian gave his housemate an amused glance.

"Yeah. Things." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm here now."

"Thinking about getting a new owner?" Susan asked.

"Well..." That had been the plan when he'd first trotted his way into this neighborhood. Until, of course, baser needs such as food and shelter had taken precedence. And worrying about that fluffing dog hadn't helped either.

"Yes," Mooky admitted. "I don't really want to camp out in that tree in Lizzy's yard again."

Susan's ears twitched. "Met that calico spitfire, have you?"

Mooky flicked his tail. "Let's just say that she wasn't as friendly as her kits."

"You can say that again!" Susan purred. "Hard to believe such a prickly feline gave birth to those little sweethearts, eh?"

Mooky agreed, remembering Lizzy's thorny attitude. The Russian flashed the white tom a scornful look, and Susan looked away indignantly, making Mooky cock his head to the side. What had that been about?

"Well, I hope you find some owners soon," the Russian commented, turning back to Mooky. "You might find yourself in a peck of trouble if you don't."

Mooky blinked. Trouble? "What do you mean?"

"The Catcher," Susan said, licking a paw.

Mooky didn't know why, but his spine prickled. "The Catcher?" he repeated.

The Russian shuddered a little as he said, "I remember the last time they came. Poor Tiger."

"Tiger?" Mooky shook his head. "Who's that? What happened to him?"

"He was a cat that used to live on our street," Susan said. "Big, stocky fellow, sweet as a kit." His meow turned sorrowful. "They chased him into a cage, then took him away in their big white truck."

Mooky's eyes widened. "W-why did they do that?"

"I went and asked ol' LoLo about it, back when we were on better terms," Susan said, his nose wrinkling a little. "That old fleabag used to be friends with Tiger when he was still around. Reckons that Tiger got picked up because he was a stray."

Mooky flinched. Tiger sounded similar to someone else he knew. "S-so this Catcher," he said, trying not to let his voice tremble. "He picked up Tiger and then...what happened to him?"

Susan and the Russian exchanged glances. "We don't know," the bluish tom admitted. "But he was put in a cage. Only something horrible could've come after."

Something horrible? Like what? Starvation? Dehydration? Claws cut painfully short? Fur shaved down to the skin? Mooky shuddered, and Susan noticed.

"Don't worry," the white tom said. "I'm sure you'll find a new owner soon." He flicked his tail assuredly against Mooky's flank, but Mooky was suddenly feeling a lot less relaxed and a lot more panicked about his situation. Great. Food, shelter, water...and now the Catcher.

Like he needed something else to worry about!