Chapter 2

He took off his backpack, holding it defensively as he eased cautiously along the front of the Dumpster. He was almost to the far side when he heard another growl followed, unbelievably, by a meow. Cats don’t growl like a dog, do they?

Steeling his nerve, he went around the corner of the Dumpster and stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. A large, mangy mutt stood there, with a small gray kitten between its front paws.

Taking off his mask, which by city law he had to wear, he stuck it in his pocket and said softly, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to do anything to you.”

The mutt looked as if he didn’t believe him, but made no move to attack, although it did growl again.

Dropping to one knee, Guy held out his hand, ready to pull it back if the dog tried to bite it. The dog remained where it was. The kitten, however, bounced toward Guy, meowing happily as if it had found another friend. The dog woofed what Guy thought was a warning, which the kitten ignored as it rubbed against Guy’s hand.

“Aren’t you the cute one?” Guy told it, scratching behind the kitten’s ear. That earned him a loud, happy purr in reply. “See.” Guy looked at the mutt. “I’m safe, honest.”

The dog relaxed enough to sit back on its haunches, warily eying Guy. The kitten bounced back to the dog, still purring as it leaned against his front leg, looking up at him and then back at Guy, as if to say, “I trust him.”

“I won’t hurt you, I promise,” Guy whispered, reaching over to tentatively pat the dog. For a second he thought the dog would at best pull away, and at the worst attack. He sighed in relief when he did neither, allowing Guy to run his hand over the coarse hair on his head. Taking a closer look, Guy thought from the markings on his face that the dog might have some shepherd in him, mixed with some other long-haired breed. Now that he had relaxed, he didn’t seem quite so fearsome.

“Who do you belong to, and why are you hanging around alleys?” Guy asked, running his hand over the dog’s neck, searching for a collar under the thick hair. He didn’t find one, and the kitten didn’t have one, either. “Runaways, like me?”

Obviously neither animal answered, but he had the feeling they might be. Either that or someone had dumped them on the streets to fend for themselves. A lot of people had done that after the pandemic had struck, fearful their pets would catch the virus and pass it on to their owners, despite the experts saying that wasn’t possible.

“Did the same person own you, or did you make friends because you’re afraid of people? Though you don’t seem too afraid of me, now, especially you, cat.” Guy sat down with his back against the Dumpster so he could pick up the kitten, settling it between his crossed legs.

The dog watched, his eyes moving from Guy to the kitten, and then back to Guy. Slowly he eased closer to them, pausing to sniff Guy’s backpack.

“I don’t have any food in there,” Guy told him, figuring he was probably hungry. After all, a dog can’t dig in the trash. Well, he probably could if he found a trash can, but if what I’ve discovered means anything, the only places to find something to eat are in Dumpsters or the trash bins outside of fast-food joints and no way could he knock them over. “Hold on,” Guy said, getting up so quickly that the kitten skittered back between the dog’s feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the alley to a Dumpster that belonged to a restaurant, hoping there’d be something edible in it—for him and the animals. He hated the idea of digging through the remains of other people’s meals, looking for his dinner, but he had quickly figured out it was the only way to survive without spending the few dollars he’d left home with. He wanted to hang onto the money in case of emergencies. Not that fending off starvation isn’t one, but who knows what’ll happen before I get up the nerve to start begging. He’d read articles online about street people for a class assignment and knew that was one way to make money for food. There were other ways, too, but he swore to himself that there was no way he’d sell drugs, or his body, no matter how desperate he was.

The restaurant leavings were scanty but he managed to find several slices of bread, a bit of steak, two partially-eaten hamburger patties, and lettuce and tomatoes he figured had once been a couple of salads. He used the bread to create two sandwiches of a sort, which would make it easier to carry the food back to where he’d left the animals. When he turned around, he found he wouldn’t have to do that. The dog was standing there, with the kitten right behind him, their gazes locked on Guy’s hands. He gave the steak to the dog and some of the hamburger to the kitten before returning to where he’d left his backpack. As soon as he sat, they were there, watching him.