Cats in the Neighborhood by K. A. Williams

Spotty and I walked down the street to our neighborhood park. No one else was there, so I took off his leash and let him run around. He chased his ball a few times and brought it back. But the last ball I threw got ignored when a black cat slinked around a bush and hissed at him. The last I saw of Spotty was his tail as he disappeared into the woods.

I followed his barking until I couldn’t hear him anymore and then I called his name until I became hoarse. After I walked home, I drove around the neighborhood searching for him without any luck.

I printed pictures of Spotty, my Dalmatian, with my phone number, and tacked them on the wooden utility poles in my neighborhood.

I also called the pound, described Spotty and told the person who answered, Carl, that he was wearing a red collar with dog tags. He put me on hold a few minutes, then came back with a negative answer.

I called back every day after that for a week. Carl suggested I come down and get a new pet, he was sure I could give one a good home.

When I saw my neighbor at the mailbox later, Alice said, “Hey Sara, I saw the pictures. Has anyone called you about Spotty? How did you lose him anyway?”

I told her.

“I’m sorry. That almost happened to me. I was at the park and Bitty wanted to chase a gray cat but I still had her leash on. Have you noticed that there seem to be more cats around here now?”

“No. Really?”

I went for walks alone around my neighborhood and each day I saw another picture of a missing dog tacked upon the wooden poles.

And every time, I saw more cats than before. I thought our neighborhood was mostly full of dog owners. Only a few of the neighbors I knew owned cats, and they were fat, pampered house cats. These animals looked lean and feral.

Today when I stopped and rested on a bench in the park, five cats were huddled around a still form on the ground. I shooed the hissing, spitting creatures away and almost lost my lunch. It looked like the mangled remains of a dog.

I called the park ranger and animal control, then started for home. Now I knew what had happened to the missing dogs. The hope I had clung to vanished, I would never see Spotty again.

I wiped the tears from my face, not caring whether they closed the park or not; I sure wasn’t going back there.

As I walked, I saw feral cats lurking in a lot of my neighbors’ yards. When I reached my driveway, one ducked behind a pink azalea bush.

Last night there was a severe thunderstorm. Flashes of lightning continuously lit up my bedroom curtains and the thunder that followed was so loud it hurt my ears. And I could hear something else too. Cats yowling.

This morning, I went out to see if my roof was damaged or any trees had fallen. The house had escaped the wrath of nature. But the feral cats hadn’t. At least one dead cat lay in my yard and the surrounding neighbors’ yards as well. A burnt smell filled the air. Lightning must have struck every one of them.

I drove around the neighborhood and it was the same scene all over. That had been a storm of cleansing.

When I got home I googled the number for dead animal removal and called. The lines were busy which didn’t surprise me.

I was glad to be in the house when the local news crews showed up and I saw Alice out there talking with them. She’d be thrilled to see herself on the news, unlike me.

I decided this was the right time for another dog and called the city pound. Carl answered.

He remembered me. “You ready for a new pet now? We’ve got some real nice dogs and cats.”

“I don’t ever want a cat,” I said quickly, not even wanting to think about them.

“Okay, I’ll only tell you about the dogs we have, then.”

And he did.

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K. A. Williams lives in North Carolina and writes speculative, mystery/crime, general fiction, and poetry which has been published in various magazines including Calliope, Yellow Mama, Aphelion, Altered Reality, Bewildering Stories, Trembling With Fear, Corner Bar, View From Atlantis, and Mystery Tribune. Apart from writing, she enjoys rock music, movies, and CYOA games.