The Catswold Portal

Speeding trucks made the roadbed tremble. Their hot diesel wind sloughed through the tall, dry grass, shaking the bag, bringing the cat up stumbling with fear, falling against her leather prison so it writhed and rolled. At the onslaught of each truck, she fought the bag, trying to run from the thunder and shaking; then she would stop fighting and lie panting until another eighteen-wheeler sped past nearly on top of her, jerking her up again. At last, too exhausted to fight, retching and dizzy, she curled into a little ball and escaped into a trance-like sleep.

She was jerked up again when a semi careened off the pavement nearly on top of her. She exploded, throwing herself stumbling and fighting the bag. Flecks of saliva flew against the leather. Her tongue was thick from thirst and her body was sore in a dozen places from Vrech’s blows. She was very thin from her days locked in the chicken cage, all bones and fur, her calico coat cupping in ugly shadows along her thin back and flanks. During her week-and-a-half confinement in the cage, she had been fed only enough to keep her from dying. And on the journey up the tunnel then up the highway there had been no food or water. The shape of her skull showed clearly beneath her matted orange-and-black coat. Her left eye was swollen shut where Vrech had struck her. Weak and sick, the stink of diesel fuel sucking in through the hole where the bag was tied made her sicker.

But then through the hole came another smell, a healing smell, making her more alert. The wind sucked in, carrying the scent of earth and grass; and she could smell muddy water. She pawed at the leather and licked at it, and tried to push out through the tiny hole. She could get a paw out, but no more. She had dug at the hole for some time when another smell reached her as the wind changed, a smell that made her force her nose frantically into the tiny opening.

The shifting wind brought the smell of frying meat, from the diner. She gulped at the greasy smell ravenously; it filled her senses, tantalizing and rich.

Each thundering truck made her try to run, tripping and fighting inside the bag. In between, when the highway was silent, she dug and pushed toward the smell of food that came to her from across the highway.

After more than two hours of fighting to get through the hole, she had chewed through the cord. She did not realize she was free. The puckered leather remained closed. She lay heaving and weak, retching from the road fumes, wild with thirst. Her raw nerves made her muscles jump at every faint, distant approach of a truck. She could feel their approach in the shaking ground. She panted fast and shallowly. She had no more strength to fight. Yet when the next diesel roared by, the sudden blast of its horn jerked her violently to life. Inside the bag she tried to run, plunging away.

She hit the puckered hole, and was out, scrabbling at earth and grass, running blindly through the tall grass.

She might have run until she dropped, but in the darkness and confusion she didn’t sense the ditch and she fell.

She landed six feet down in mud. She smelled the brackish water and crouched, licking frantically, swallowing mud.

When her thirst was slaked, she climbed out of the ditch sniffing the greasy, delicious smell from the diner. She approached the edge of the highway and crouched, watching the broad black expanse with her good eye. The macadam was warm under her paws. But the thunder began again, shaking the highway. She stared at the approaching lights growing larger, growing huge. The wind of the semi buffeted her; she leaped away into the grass and crouched and hissed.

When the highway was empty once more, the smell of food drew her back. Hunched and shivering, she crouched, tensed to dash across. There was thunder coming, but it was not very loud yet. She ran.

She was halfway across the first lane when the lights of a Greyhound bus exploded fast out of the distance; she froze; light bathed her small, still form and reflected from her eyes. Her white parts blazed bright. The driver didn’t swerve. She leaped back from the speeding wheels barely in time.

When the bus had passed she sped forward again, confused, directly into the path of the next racing light. This time, an air horn drove her back as a pair of racing trucks bore down, their lights picking her out. The passenger of the nearer truck stared down at her laughing, as if he would like to see a cat mashed on the highway.

Then there was a lull in traffic. The four-lane was empty, and silent. Only one set of lights was coming, very far away and with not so much noise. Eagerly she ran for the diner.

She misjudged. The car was quieter than trucks, but it was moving fast. The driver saw her and slammed on the brakes, skidding, screeching the tires. The cat was so terrified she didn’t know which way to run, she crouched directly in the car’s path, full in its light; then at the last second she leaped into blackness. She felt its wind behind her.