The Wolf and the Cat

11---eleven---11

Perhaps it wasn't his best catch, but it's food nonetheless. It's enough for Patrick and him to have full stomachs for tonight and well into tomorrow.  Worst comes to worst, he rations the food.

"I caught rabbit," Pete says as he approaches the tree.

Normally Patrick meows and pokes his head out, but today he didn't.  Pete knows he's not sleeping, so he rolls his eyes and frowns at the hole.

"Either your still mad you have to sit in the tree, or mad I got rabbit," Pete kneels down and reaches into the hole. "Beggars can't be choosers."

The soft lump inside doesn't allow Pete to grab him. No, he hisses and rakes his claws across Pete's skin.

"Don't be a fucking asshole, dude!" Pete growls. "It's me!"

Pete manages to snatch the cat's scruff, lifting the animal from the tree. He's met with a larger, darker, and meaner looking cat.

"Where's Patrick?" Pete asks the cat, dropping the rabbit in his other arm so he can search the hiding spot.

It comes out empty. The cat in Pete's grasp remains still, only grumbling every so often when Pete's movements are too rough.

"Where's the cat that was here?" Pete asks again, marching to a ditch and dropping the cat inside.

If the thing tries to run, Pete can catch him, but the ditch does a fantastic job of cornering him. The cat shifts into a tough looking man, who scowls at Pete.

"Answer me!" Pete demands.

"They took him!" The man yells.

The man looks scarier than he sounds; his red-brown hair slicked back, strong facial structure, a decently muscular frame. He could easily pass as a wolf if he tried.

He rises to his feet, brushing himself clean. Without word from Pete, he tries to step around him.

"Who took him?" Pete shoves the man back.

He stumbles backwards, struggling to regain his balance. "Easy!"

"Tell me."

"Some guys, I don't know!"

"You know more than you're letting on and I swear on everything I will force it out of you," Pete stalks closer to the man,  causing him to back up slowly.

"I don't know shit, okay!?" The man defends. "I heard a cat crying for help and I thought I'd be a good person and help. Instead, I get jammed into the fucking rotted tree and threatened!"

"Where's the other cat?"

"The tallest one ran with him," He points a pale arm behind Pete.  "That way."

"Who took them?"

"I don't know them! Some piece of shit wolves."

Pete raises an eyebrow. "You didn't catch any names?"

"Sorry I wasn't trying to befriend my attackers!" He scoffs.  "What do you want with that little cat anyways, huh? Saving him for your little back-up meal?"

"He's my friend."

"Wolves aren't friends with cats. Go back to your pack," He finally moves past Pete and starts down the trail.

"I don't have a pack," Pete mutters.

That makes the man freeze. "You don't have a pack?" He then laughs. "That's pretty sad."

"My pack turned on me."

"Maybe you should be less of an asshole."

Pete's jaw tightens but he continues.  "That cat is my pack. He's my friend. He's my somebody."