Stray

A mutt limps down an alley lathered in refuse. The air reeks of a thousand layers of rot, but under it all is the hint of something clean. She tests the wayward drafts blown in from the street. Sweat, dirt, hints of metal and concrete. But no food. She turns back to the rubbish piled around her.

Flies suffuse the shadowed recess, but they gather around one sack in particular. She wades through the buzzing cloud. The insects ignore her hide, stretched tight over brittle bones. She tears open the bag, winces at a black tooth’s protestations. A dozen apples tumble out, brown and mottled with tufts of mold. The flies consume.

One apple is untouched by the writhing swarm. One with skin intact and only a few bruises. She snatches up the prize and limps back through the alley. Her bum leg slides and skitters in the muck, but she does not stop. She does not stop until she crawls through a hollow under a wall and hears a familiar mewling.

A kitten, lathered in grime, waits for her in the dark. He voices a soft grunt, and the mutt returns the greeting. She takes a bite of the apple and chews slowly, avoiding the pained tooth. She spits up the chewed morsel and the kitten laps it up. They repeat this small ritual until the kitten sighs, curls up, and closes his eyes. The mutt finishes what remains of the apple and watches the fragile thing sleep.

She leaves quietly in search of the next meal. She limps toward the street, that wall of sounds and smells and glaring light. Footsteps make her stop. A dirty child turns the corner, bare feet slapping on sludge. He hides in the shadows and waits for a group of men to run by. The mutt gives a low growl, a warning. The child looks at her. Not frightened. Not angry. Curious, if anything.

He holds out a piece of bread, fresh and smelling of warmth. She limps forward, cautious. He sits down in the refuse, whispers to her. She takes the bread. His hand reaches for her. She snaps at it. He jerks back but his eyes never leave her’s. His hand moves closer, but this time she lets it. He pets her mottled head and murmers something in that silly human language. She backs away and retreats into the hole.

After he leaves, she finds herself hoping he comes back.