13. The Call of the Wild

Poor Rocky, my cat that I've owned for 6 years decided to run away :(

May 2008- Olga Taratuta

Rocky, no last name. Orange tabby, swirls of peach smoothie lining his fur coat. Plump and irritating, a painstake of my life, soon to become my lost companion, my one and only domestic pet, the cat.
Rocky went through a sort of metamorphosis a few days back. From amicable to atrocious, from tame to wild. Wild as oven roasted rice freshly brewed by natives.
He left behind his food, his toys, his owner, his fellowship. He alienated into a wild cat, vaulted off the balcony with no hesitation, just a couple warming sprints back and forth on the concrete. It couldn't have been anything else but a call of the wild, a call of the wild in which he will belittle to pulp under BMW tires off of Major Mac.
If he's lucky.
Gone for days now. I don't think I'll ever see him again. It's quite dismal...healthy, wholesome Rocky, a flimsy alley cat bustling in between garbage cans, defining fish bones as banquet.
If he's clever he'll come home.
If he's dimwitted he'll lick his paws on the intersection.
If the call of the wild is almighty, he'll escape into foreign fields, and never ever return to the captivity of familial.
There will be no bond between human and cat, only cat and moon.
No silent treaty among cat and human, only cat and earth.
All the luck to you,
Rocky Supertramp.

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