Where are we going? I asked the cat. I had to bark, there was no other way. And it caused the dogs on the other side of the wall to scream back in agony and hunger.

The cat swayed his tail, gesturing me to follow him. There were bloody footprints that reached out from the house and went toward the gate. They had faded under the constant stream of sunlight but told a tale that wasn’t much different from others.

The cat climbed the outside perimeter wall and started walking; I exited the gate and followed him from the road. The cat hadn’t promised me anything, and the slowness of his swaying movements made me really anxious.

He was leading me back into the community, to a home that was no longer there and a family that was similarly gone.

We passed a dairy on the way that had some really horrifying sounds bellowing from inside. It was the cows, of course. Since the dogs and the hu-mans were no longer sane, how could the cows, that were always chained to their posts have survived? The gate was wide open, and inside was not to good sight. The whole place used to smell of piss and cow dung, and now there was also rot and blood into the mix. My nose wanted nothing to do with the place, but my heart demanded a peek, and that’s what it got.

There were only three cows still chained to the wall. The rest had run away.

Chains! I called. He was the dog that lived there, protected the place at night, or after the hu-mans took leave. He was not inside, but the sows mooed with an intensity that must have torn their throats from the inside. It was the chains that kept them from rushing at me, but they sure showed the intentions.

Come on, kid. Don’t dally. The cat called and I was following him again. I couldn’t help keep looking over my shoulder over and over again as the cows screamed, to ensure my trembling heart that they hadn’t somehow managed to get out of the chains and were out for blood.

Suddenly, the cat hissed in warning. It made my hair stand up. I was on the ground in seconds, looking around for the source of the disturbance. I found nothing. Needless to say, the cat had also acted. He was gone.

Ah, there he was, I heard the leaves and then found him climbing the large berry tree growing inside the wall, which was protecting another empty unused space. The small, door-sized Iron Gate that looked inside had been unsurprisingly swung open. There was a row of single rooms on the far end, but that was about it. However, human cubs loved the place for space. It was paved, it was walled; essentially they played in there all day, every day. Not anymore, though.

The bricked floor was bloody and the rooms had been ransacked —the dead skins and items were all scattered outside, free for the wind to play with. I wondered if things would ever return to normal.

I could not find an answer within me.

It was rather difficult to follow the cat in the tree. There were too many branches and too many leaves. Moreover, the sunlight shining through the leaves was blinding.

I could, however, hear the sound of pigeons cooing and the cat crying, asking something of them. The pigeons disagreed and he jumped at them. I couldn’t believe it. He was getting himself a meal, and I thought he was trying to help me.

What the hell!

I started barking, not really curses, but I did call him a whistleblower on a number of occasions.

He didn’t reply, but climbed down the tree a moment later, carrying a pigeon between his jaw. The poor multi-colored bird looked to be in shock. It was silent and stiff —basically playing dead.

That just made me angrier.

However, before I could say something truly nasty, more pigeon flew down from their house somewhere up in the tree crown and started shitting at the cat. That was oddly amusing.

Let’s not eat the poor bird! I told the cat as it jumped down from the last few branches of the tree and landed on the wall.

The cat snorted. He looked at me with his yellowish-green eyes and agreed? He released the bird and it fluttered its chromatic wings, flew up the tree, and settled on the lowest branch, which was just high enough to be out of Tigers reach, yet low enough for me to see the pigeon. I took a breath of relief as if it was not the pigeon, but I who had been kidnapped by a large-eyed predator.

I got on my feet and barked at the silly bird. Fly away, fool! I told it, but instead of going away, it cooed at its brethren, calling them to join it on the branch. They did exactly that.

Were they stupid?

The pigeon fought each other to sit close to their leader. They fluttered wings and slapped each other with them. It was a fun sight, but also a confusing one.

I couldn’t help but turn toward the cat; he was busy licking his paws.

What in the name of nameless treats are we doing here? I squealed. And how are they related to finding my pack?

The pigeon settled their affair and all took a place on the branch. The leader, the one who was fluttering his wings every few seconds to get the wet saliva out of his feathers was the first to speak.

Did you have to do that? It cooed to the cat.

Bloody hell, the pigeons spoke!

Well, The cat raised his eyes at them and they skittered closer to each other out of fear. You refused to come with me when I asked.

I couldn’t believe it: the cat was talking to his meal!

Who was not coming with you? The pigeon leader fluttered his wings, unintentionally causing another riot. They settled back on the branch and he continued. Tell me who refused you; I’ll shit on his face to teach him a lesson.

Suddenly, he turned his head sideways and looked at me with one eye.

Was it the dog? Was it him? It cooed.

The cat was not bothered by its behavior. He was casually wetting his paws to clean his face.

It was you Shank. He casually made the remark, showing no stupefaction or surprise. He most likely knew something that I didn’t.

Really? The pigeon cooed, tilting his head dangerously to the right. I felt a pain clink in my neck from watching it.

Don’t follow them, kid. The cat advised; now he had moved on to grooming his face. You will lose more than just a few brain muscles if you did.

I was so confused.

Shank, the leader of the pigeons skirted closer to the one on his left. It was a fat pigeon, and he had started dozing.

Do you know anything about this? Shank asked it, and the poor bird was startled.

Of course, he answered, and then skidded to his right, toward the youngest of their group. He almost threw the tiny chick off the branch. The pigeon desperately fluttered its wings to keep balance, and barely managed to keep its place.

Be patient. The cat meowed. He must have noticed my agitation. Give them time. They’ll come around… hopefully.

I didn’t like the sound of that.

He introduced me to the pigeons, who were, fortunately, or not, still busy getting to the bottom of the mystery: who refused the cat.

The one on the leftmost is Shank, their leader. Then there is fatso, shady, and Stinky.

You are not going to eat them, are you? I asked. The pigeons reacted faster than the cat.

Who is eating whom?

Not me! Shady cooed, rising higher as he fluttered his wings. I’m too young! Eat fatso. He eats too much.

Fatso in turn stiffened before he similarly tried to getaway. He tried to fly, but he really just bounced up and down on the branch, causing it to sway, which sent the birds into another flying fight of wings and peck and claws. It was hilarious, but I still had no idea what we were doing there.

Finally, after another round of banter, the pigeons settled down on the branch. Stinky tried to take Shank's place. They fought and stinky flew back to the other end of the line. He didn’t look happy.

Shank looked at me sideways, then tilted his head and cooed.

Who’s that?

Suddenly I had their undivided attention. Obviously, they were turning their heads one way and another to get a good look at me, and I followed them as they did, which made me nauseated. It was more of an unnerving experience than a frightening one.

The cat sprung to action. Everyone this is… What was your name again, kid?

I’m spring.

Indeed. No wonder you climbed the wall.

The pigeon all unfurled their wings.

Tell us more. They demanded.

He thinks I’m here to eat you guys, that you are my dinner —no, lunch. Your intelligence really is contagious.

Coo-coo-coo, that’s really funny.

It was embarrassing to be laughed at by pigeon. Rusty would not let me hear the end of it if he found out. First I was humiliated by the crows and then the pigeon, what a fine sunny day it was turning out to be.

Where did you find him? Shank asked.