Trust. Ha. I trusted no one for a long time. Even street friends sold each other out for a little comfort.
It wasn’t until I’d stumbled on some asshole kids throwing rocks at Josie that I’d found a lifeline. She’d been the tiniest kitten. I’m not ashamed to say I’d scared those kids so badly that one wet his pants. I’m sure I’d looked deranged then, with my designer dress in rags and my curly hair wild around my face. I’d rescued Josie though. Named her. And she’d become my new world.
Now look at us. We’re dirty and thin and disheveled. But we’ve got each other. She’s my only friend in the world, this orange tabby cat with a crooked tail who’s missing a chunk of her left ear.
As if she could hear my thoughts, Josie meowed happily and rubbed her body soothingly against my forearm. She’d eaten most of her sandwich piece. I hoped, someday, I could give her a better life.
“I love you too, silly cat.” I rubbed affectionately between her ears and then picked her up to slip into my messenger bag. She protested at the weight and size of the pickle jar. It encroached on her cozy ride. But Ididn’t want anyone else to see it. It was mine. I didn’t want to share, even with the few Betas and Omegas I’d befriended.
When I stood up, I positioned the messenger bag comfortably against my hip. I brushed loose debris from my khakis, courtesy of the shelter’s clothes closet. That stuff was supposed to be for people living at the Seattle Saints’ Shelter, to clean up for job interviewers and such, but the Beta sisters of Hearts Over Seattle were kind that way. They never turned me away, even if they didn’t have a bed available. I mean, I couldn’t sleep on the floor there because of occupancy regulations, but they still fed me and let me replace clothes when mine got too shabby. My outfit right now was still in pretty good shape. I could almost walk into a store and look presentable... I mean, except for the filthy hair and body. I only got a shower once a week though, when the shelter opened the facilities to the homeless before and after Wednesday’s soup kitchen. By days five and six, I looked pretty rugged.
As I started walking, my stomach growled anew, like I didn’t already know the half a sandwich wasn’t enough. No food foraging ever filled it. I was always operating at half-empty. The hunger was just a familiar soundtrack. I could ignore it, and the cramping as my stomach tried to digest what I’ve finally eaten. It’s good, in a way. It was a gnawing reminder that I was still alive.
And I shouldn’t be.
Whatever fates were at work, weaving the lives of us stupid fucking mortals, they’d really done a doozy on my destiny.
All I’d done was skip a family trip because I’d wanted desperately to go to that concert. I’d been obsessed with the band for almost six years. I hadn’t murdered anyone. I hadn’t stolen or done drugs or any number of horrid things. I’d just, blown off my family.
And then... they’d all died.
Every single person I loved.
They’d left me behind.
My father. My mother, along with my little sister in her womb. My brothers. My uncles. My aunts. The cousins. Everyone.
Shortly after the whirlwind funerals—surreal affairs featuringrandom,poorly identified body parts placed in closed coffins too large to hold them—government marshals had seized everything on suspicion of tax fraud. They day after my horrible birthday, I’d found myself standing outside the gate of our family estate staring at a giant chain and lock with a huge sign for all the neighborhood to see: ‘seized government property’. They hadn’t even let me pack a bag. I didn’t even have a pack photo. How do you fight something like that? It had all happened so fast. I’d only been a kid, barely nineteen. Back then, I didn’t even know that a credit card wasn’t real money.How stupid was that?I’d swiped my platinum for a modest salad and bottled water only to have the metallic, useless rectangle confiscated after declining. The horrid cashier had cut it to pieces in front of me, and every other onlooking customer at the deli. I’d felt small and crushable, a bug under someone’s boot during that mortifying moment.
My family lawyer had told me he’d do everything in his power to help me, to protect my identity, to get my family’s estate back, yet my last visit to his firm had ended with Mister Johnas patting my shoulder sadly and handing me five hundred dollars—all he could spare from my family’s remaining retainer, one of the only accounts the government hadn’t seized already. No one was in my corner. No one cared enough to make sure I was okay anymore.
Five hundred dollars... that seemed like a fortune these days. Back then though, I’d been so angry. Five hundred dollars wouldn’t even get me a few nights at the Ritz.
I should have used that money wisely. I shouldn’t have opted for a decent hotel with a continental breakfast.
A memory flashed: the Eiffel Tower, champagne breakfasts, my parents promising we'd always be a pack. I shook off the assaulting memory, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. Promises don't mean much when the people who made them are dead.
The pampered Fortune princess had learned a few things, at least. Like how to spot a soft patch of sidewalk before some Beta asshole nabbed it. Or which dumpsters belonged to sushi places, so Josie could pretend she's back on gourmet kitten chow. I’d also discovered when thelocal appliance store got shipments and had a few large fridge boxes out back. And most importantly, I’d learned how to disappear. Pretty, unbound Omegas had a way of vanishing on the streets. It was why I didn’t mind looking and smelling like a hot mess. Dumpster perfume masks my natural scent just enough, and a coat of dirt on my face was a great mask. Sometimes, I could even get away with pretending I was a Beta.
A group of mate missionaries had come through a few months ago. A lot of Omegas had gone with them. A promise of security on a sanctuary farm beat the hell out of the streets for them; they might even scent-match with one of the resident Alphas if they were lucky. I’d considered the offer for about a millisecond. But they were selling a cage. Be good, eat well, hopefully breed. It wasn’t enough to entice me.
Not that I'd let anyone take me. Those do-gooders could keep their farm and their Alphas. I had a family pack once, I had everything with a bright future ahead, and I’d ended up with nothing after a snap of fate’s fickle fingers. If I was alone forever, then I never had to lose anyone again.
Josie stuck her head out of the bag, looking around curiously. She almost seemed disappointed that we were still in the same alley. She meowed in annoyance and then disappeared into the shadows of the satchel. She was so tiny when I found her, all kitten mewling and messy fur. Now, she barely fit in the bag with my other meager belongings. A ratty toothbrush, its teeth splayed out in random directions, a comb missing half of its bristles, an extra pair of underwear that I’d use once my current ones had too many holes to be serviceable. And now, the precious pickles.
As if reassuring me that she’d always fit in my bag, my streetwise comrade wriggled around in the bag. I looked down, peeking inside. She’d curled around the glass jar and her head rested on my brush. She couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but I’d discovered that cats had a way of making themselves at home wherever they were. A bag. A fridge box. A dumpster diner. I would never let Josie end up like my family. So, I kept me alive. Or she kept me alive. Hard to tell these days.
"What would my family or Mister Johnas think if they could see usnow, huh, Josie?" I closed the bag again, hiding her from the world’s evil eyes. She thrummed happily, as if the scrunched space of the smelly bag was as good as any palace in the world.
I kept talking, as if she’d answer back. “That sandwich wasn’t bad, was it? I think we’ve had fine dining today. And, later, we get to wash it down with a dessert of pickles and juice.”
We were finally at the end of the alley, and I was faced with left or right.
Left took me to where I’d been sleeping for about a week—a relatively cozy box under an overpass, which was prime real estate, and I suspected someone would claim it one day soon while I was foraging. Or right, which would take me to the shelter. They never had an open bed, but I kept checking just in case. Pets weren’t allowed, so I’d have to sneak in Josie.
I debated for a moment, paused there at the termination of the alley.
A gust of wind pushed against my body. I heard a distinct fluttering of paper, low near the ground. My gaze shifted, finding a wrinkled flying poster which, seconds later, plastered itself against my legs. I bent over just enough to snag it. For some reason, my heart thumped a little faster as I straightened it out to read. I could have just thrown it into a trashcan; there was one only a few feet away. That would have been the smart thing to do. Curiosity though… it always got the cat. Or it always got me, thanks to my association with a cat.
