Cat Can

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"Good Grave!" My mother's claws dug into the dirt beneath and her dirty black tipped ears pointed towards my brother like she always did when she got like this, " Your disgusting!" she gagged.

My poor, naive and unfortunate brother had misunderstood why we never had fresh food, why we could never hunt and ate only from trash cans and scraps from the streets. He thought our mother couldn't hunt. So now my mother, a cat with dirty white fur with black only on her toes on the very tips of her ears and cruel yellow eyes, is yelling at a kitten, once proud of the dead, bloody bird in front of him, for trying to help his family. She then went on to tell the overtold horrifying story of her sister's death. How her mother hunted not only for food but also for fun but one day in winter nothing was catchable. She was getting older and more unable, but she did have something. She had a rare litter of two kittens who slept in cans, separately. So one day, she found some excuse to get mad at them and as punishment, they had to sleep in the same tiny can with the lid on. inevitably, They suffocated and were eaten as her brunch. She died soon after from starvation.

In a few months, my brother would die thin and bony in his sleep from starvation, like his grandmother.

My mother never has, and never will accept hunting, but I'll never forgive her for letting me and my siblings go hungry.

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Now, I'm preparing for my first litter that's coming in just a few days. I live where I know my mother will not tread and not affect my future children, a large, green graveyard. She's always hated these kinds of places. She says if dangerous people were buried there nothing could stop them in the afterlife. She thinks I'm lucky to be breathing, but as long as it's the same air as hers, I would rather be burning down below.

I usually have a large supply of squirrels to keep me plump but it's the winter month. I march everywhere around my graveyard home but every animal must be snuggled in their nests or dead. And even better, I'm too weighed down by my kin to climb to said nests.

I'm having to turn to dumpster diving like my mother, yuckk. To make it worse all the trash is making my ginger-striped coat turn darker and muddy, reminding me too much of how my mother neglected her grooming. mentally, I don't think I can do this much longer, so, reluctantly, I turn to my last resort.

My mother hates the dark and avoids it with a passion so, in the darkest part of the night, I go back to the nasty, unkept alleyway I was raised in. The alleyway is placed between two dingy apartment buildings. It's in even worse condition than I remember, graffiti and blood are splattered on the already decaying walls. Teens come here to drink, partcipatpate in or watch knife fights and escape their parents' loud fights. Mice ran free here originally (thanks to my mom and the crappy landlords) but now bones pop out from their tiny, withered, and partly eaten bodies on the crusty pavement floor. a trail of their bodies leads to a pile of bloody, gutsy bodies. I go further down the progressively darker alleyway in hopes of a fresh kill but find something shocking: my mother, in the dark, eating a mouse.

"What are you doing?" I snarled, " Becoming your mother?"

She looks over her shoulders with the sharpest look that was ever seen. Before I can blink she's dashing towards me and slings herself at me. I barely dodge. She's thicker now and clearly more well-fed but even more disgusting than I remember. She resembles my younger brother when he caught his first and final kill. Blood has stained her fangs, her gray and red fur is overgrown and flesh is stuck in between her nasty toes.

She tries to bite me but I get her first and manage a scratch too but I'm weaker than I used to be. My children make it harder to fight but they're also why I can't lose. I want, no, need my blood and DNA to survive in something other than her. If only I could win, but instead I have to run.

But, my mother is faster than she used to be. I'm dashing, she's sprinting, and I'm sick to my stomach.

My hungry pregnant body gives in. On the bright side though, It will piss off my mother to know she's no better than grandma, so it isn't worth it?

Though, apperentaly, it's my lucky day. My mother had gotten rabies, causing her morbid hunger.

And now all of a sudden just before she bites into my flesh, she falls with a loud, rough thump on the head. Rabies was common in cats around our area growing up. Of course, instead of teaching us to protect ourselves, she opted to just scare us. You know, like a mother who doesn't find pleasure in her children's fear does. She told us over and over, just like the story about her mother, how the virus would spread to our mind first and then make its way to our legs and paralyze us if we were even bitten by someone with rabies. My mother can only move her head, she's in a pitiful state, confused and helpless. My chance to make sure she can definitely never even come near my children.

Around me, there's a gray round trash can, silver and shiny like I've always imagined in the horrid grandmother story. I use its rough edges to sharpen my claws fine. I flash them at my mother and her shock shows. She shook her head violently, and begged, bringing a sweet, innocent-looking smile to my face.

"Stop! Beatrice, stop!" she yelped as my claws dug into her skin. Her eyes began to tear and humbly pleaded, "Please, I'm sorry. Just... please."

I dug my claws in deeper, making her screams higher than a kitten's. I made sure to make her death a slow, gruesome one. If you're ending your own mother's life you might as well go all out, right? But that's quite a lot of effort and why work harder when you can work smarter?

I take a large, good bite of her vile fresh and drag her all the way to the trash. She's so exhausted the poor thing has gone silent. Maybe she has accepted her demise, I hope not. It takes out a good chunk of the fun.

I knock over the can with my large, heavy feline body. Still, even with my weight, it's hard and I have to catch my breath. My mother takes this as her chance and bites me. So roughly my eyes, brown and small, go wet. I return the favor by biting her feet and using my mouth to pull her claws.

After giving her foot one last bite I pull her heavy body by the fur inside the tin trash can. It almost smells as bad as her.

I happily give my goodbyes as I enclose the trash can. she bite me and I'll die, but despite her efforts, I'll die happy.

I just hope I don't end up like grandma and get hungry.