Chronicles Of A Dumpster Cat: Part I

I’ve lived in this complex for a little over four months now, and during that time, the dumpster cat has grown so attached to me that he’s trying to break into my home and be my cat.  I’ve decided I was going to tell this story from his point of view.  Obviously to tell a story from the point of view of a cat requires a lot of creative liberties, but there is no sort of merit in this story other than artistic, so I’ll take as many of those as I damn well please.  Also, as with my other serial, I will maintain the copyrights to this story.  However, you remain free to disseminate the editorials in any way you see fit.  I know you’re dying to find out what happens in Part IX of my other serial, but you can wait on that one to make room for this one.  And now, without further ado…


Hi.  They call me Patch.  They didn’t always call me that.  Ever since my people forgot to pay their rent, I’ve been homeless.  So, I’m greying a bit.  Especially on one patch on my back.  The weather is cruel and the people are more so.  I live in the dumpster.  People call me “the dumpster cat,” but people can be so cruel.  Most of them.  Every now and then you run into a decent person, but I’d been living in this dumpster for a few years without seeing one.

So, what did I eat?  Well, I haven’t lost my hunting skills despite living with people.  I’d been hunting birds and mice and, with no people to bring gifts to, I could eat the whole things myself.  When it gets cold, however, other animals become harder to find.  One day, I had been sitting under one of those obnoxiously loud people movers waiting for a squirrel to run down from the tree.  I saw one and I started to sneak up on it, but this oblivious person scared it away.

So, hungry and disappointed, I began to walk back to the dumpster.  Maybe a person threw something to eat in there.  I don’t know why they’d feed a giant people mover but not a little cat like me, but I could eat some of that.  The person who scared the squirrel noticed me and began to follow.  I was going to be cautious and walk away because people like to hurt me and scare me.  I thought he was one of them.  But he wasn’t. “Come back, kitty,” he called to me, “I can feed you.”

My mouth can’t form the necessary expressions to speak his language, so I had to hope he knew mine too.  “Mew?” I asked him, and he answered in the affirmative.  He knew what I was saying!  He was one of those rare nice people.  I followed him back to his nest, but he wouldn’t let me inside.  He said he wanted to let me in but he couldn’t.  I didn’t understand, but I waited outside the entrance and he came back with some tuna.  I don’t know where he got tuna this far from the ocean, but it was much appreciated.  An uncaring female person dropped a bowl of milk by me when he was in his nest, and walked away.  The nice person came back, saw the milk bowl was empty, and refilled it with his own milk.

I thanked him when I was done eating, and went home to my dumpster, but I don’t think he understood what I said.  I knew this was a nice person, and I would come back another day.

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