Speck's Rise

Chapter 1

The barely visible stars were outshone by the street lights, the sounds of cars and the occasional workfolk chatter flooding the ears of Speck. He shifted in his box-den in anxiety, the shredded newspaper wrinkling under his weight. Listening to his sister Spot's faint breathing reminded him of the reason for his nervousness.

Spot was expecting kits, but the alleyway that the siblings lived in was not habitable for kits in the slightest. He was prepared to find another habitat in the next week; Spot seemed like she was about to pop.

He rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes, attempting to sleep, but sleep was not coming. After what seemed like years, he decided to sneak out of his box-den and peek out of the alleyway. In the distance, a workfolk turned the corner and started walking towards him. An odd blue glow came from an object in its paw and the creature's eyes were fixed intently onto it.

Speck watched the workfolk slowly walk along the sidewalk in boredom. Crouching into the shadows as it passed, he followed it with his orange eyes until it was out of sight. He continued to watch anything that there was to watch; a piece of trash tumbling in the breeze, or the eclipses of moths that flocked at the streetlamps eagerly.

Hitting those lights with their heads all night must be painful.

Speck opened his eyes after blinking, but a morning ray of sunlight hit his face. He didn't realize he fell asleep. He winced as his neck and back was sore because of the awkwardness of his sleeping position. Craning his neck to look at Spot, he analyzed her briefly.

She looked as she had looked for two moons; bulging with her kits. He felt sorry for her; that looked painful.

He didn't notice the amber eyes staring at him from the shadow of the box-den.

"What's wrong Speck?" Spot meowed, "You basically fell asleep standing up."

He jumped slightly at the startling voice, "I couldn't sleep last night... I guess I fell asleep while watching the moths."

Spot gazed at Speck sympathetically, shifting in her paper nest, "That's rough."

"Anyway, are you okay?" Speck turned his whole body towards the speckled she-cat, "You look like an over-inflated balloon!"

Spot scoffed jokingly, "How nice."

"I'm serious!"

"Okay, I'm fine, although we should probably move soon; the kits seem to be ready."

Speck nodded as he noticed her pain-filled eyes, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

Spot nodded, "Yes, thank you."

Speck shot one last reassuring glance before padding out of the alleyway.

Speck swerved around workfolk, ignoring the occasional workfolk kit that tried to place its pink paws on him.

After a while, he finally came across a bench, two pigeons pecking at whatever was sprinkled on the concrete. He crouched, his lean muscles rippling under his pelt. Eyes focused on a fat pigeon, he pounced. He wrestled with the huge bird, smacking it with his paws. It took an odd amount of effort to kill it. Once he did, he grabbed it and made his way back to the alleyway.

Maybe, Speck thought, I should beg for a treat; Spot would appreciate it.

Instead on going straight for the alleyway, Speck followed the strong scent of the nearby workfolk restaurant to beg for food. He hid his pigeon among some trash and slipped into the outside patio. He searched for the most appetizing scent and snuck under the table.

A workfolk noticed him, blabbering something to her companion. Speck looked at the other workfolk, giving him his most innocent and sad look.

The workfolk seemed irritated, but slipped him a crunchy strip of chicken. After looking it over, he grabbed the piece of food and sped away to his pigeon. He grabbed the bird along the workfolk food and trotted to his alleyway.

Swerving around everything like he always did, he felt the stares of many as he carried the potential feast. He didn't take any notice of it, only fixated on getting home fast. He took too long to get the treat and he worried for Spot's safety.

Speck stopped at the alleyway, an unusual scent flooding his nostrils. Another cat was in the alley! Was it an intruder? An attacker? A murderer?

He skirted into the alley, dropping the prey at Spot's belly.

"I brought you some food! And I even got a treat-" Speck's jaw dropped as he caught sight of the five kits that squirmed at her belly.

After a few moments of silence, Speck wailed, "I'm so sorry! I should have been there for you."

Spot replied in exhaustion, "It's fine. I see that the prey smells extra good."

"Yeah. It's an extremely meaty pigeon and a strip of chicken." Speck pushed the food to her, "I assumed you would like it."

Spot bit into the chicken, satisfaction flooding her expression, "I do. I'm starving."
Speck watched her eat the chicken, and then shifted his gaze to her kits. One kit was a dark speckled tabby with a prominent white muzzle and chest. Another kit was pure jet black. A near identical black kit with a white dash on its chest squirmed at its side, and a light speckled kit did the same. A black-and-white kitten was mewling in hunger.

"Your kits are beautiful," Speck smiled, "What are their names?"

Spot wrapped her wiry tail around her litter, "The dark spotty one I named Cricket, and the lighter one I named Feathers. The black-and-white one is Bunny, and the black one with the white on his chest is Strike."

Speck blinked, "And what about the fully black one? What's its name?"

"That's the thing," she sighed, "I cannot think of one."

He gazed at the black kit and thought about names. What could this kit be named?

"Remember mother?" He finally meowed, "How she couldn't think of names?"

Spot nodded, confusion clouding her face.

Their mother, Rosetta, was a pale tabby she-cat who always cared for them. At the birth of Spot and Speck, she had trouble choosing names. She loved the two siblings infinitely, and her love barely wavered when she had to be murdered by the veterinarian after attacking the housefolk that tried to give her kits away. Before she died, she had told them:

"You must run away and live on your own. Always remember that I will always love you, even in death."

Speck held back a tear just thinking about Rosetta. He was always fond of his mother.

"Well," he started his suggestion, "we could name it something like 'Rosetta" or "Rosette," or even "Rosetto.' Something to remember her by."

Spot laid in silence, letting her kits suckle at her belly. Staring into nothingness, she finally purred, "I like that. He will be named Rosette."

Speck finally started to eat, making sure to leave a lot of prey left over for Spot. He knew that these kits; Cricket, Feathers, Bunny, Strike, and Rosette, would grow into fine cats someday.