Chapter Eight

Bars trap me in a small, plastic cage. Thin bars. If I swat hard enough, I might break them. But why would I want to break them?

I have food. I have water. They’re both to my side, little bowls, also plastic. The food isn’t bad—it’s better than mice, rats and rubbish, in any case. My bedding is soft, some material I don’t know. Comfortable. If not for the space issue, this could be paradise.

Someone is making a commotion below me, their yowling cutting through the air and shooting itself directly into my ears. Rolling my eyes, I pick myself up and turn a little, paws brushing against the pleasant bedding. Pleasant, that’s a good word for this place. Warm and dry and there’s no one to bother me.

The bars keep me in, but they also keep everyone else out.