Lost Kitten

[Speechless]

The night of duels between Mushems and Clicky, Salem had followed Patpat. He skittered away, and Salem had been rather curious! The hunched man followed the boy out of the arena, up the stairs, and through the drinky place with the terrible bubblewater, out to the streets. Dark. Foreboding. Patpat was family. So small. He would see what the little creature got up to! He wasn't much of a stalker, rather obvious in the way he shuffled after the boy, but he was not as slow as it would seem, once the other started off trying to lose him.

He loped off easily after the quick dash of the Patpat, keeping a safe enough distance as not to scare him. Maybe. When they reached a park, Salem slowed, and hands lifted to wring at his hoodie, fingers digging into the fabric and worrying at it as he started to pace a distance away. He watched with clinical curiosity, then... The boy was pulling his clothing of! He narrowed his eyes, and looked down to his own dirty clothing, wet with rainbow spew and specked in flecks of the remnants of a few meals. He was distracted just long enough that when he looked up, the boy was a cat, and starting up a tree!

With a surprised cry, he lurched forward, and watched the rustle of leaved, stopping only to pick up the clothing left behind. He would need these! He tried to chase after, holding up the shirt. Didn't he need this again soon? He tried his best to follow the kitten, but it was not long before he was once again distracted, this time by the trickle of water from a fountain. His steps slowed, and he stared at it, humming as he approached. His head tilted as he tried to make sense of the statuary, and he stalked around it for nearly half an hour, clothing clutched to his chest. A rustle in bushes caught his ears, and he suddenly remembered the boy. There was a momentary pause, and Salem loped off deeper into the park, doing his best to call after the long gone cat that had stalked off into the trees.


Some time later, after searching high and low, Salem gave a wail, and started to panic. Maybe the cat would be home. Cats went home. Cats knew home. Right? He didn't know about cats. Or boys. Or boy cats. Or cat boys. He hummed mournfully, and stalked away, loping toward home. He could only hope that Patpat would be there, doing Patpat things. If he were the boy, where would he be? Dumpster. No. Not Salem. Boy. Dumpster. No. Not Dumpster. Did cats like dumpsters?

Either way, it was the first place he checked. No boy. Shit. Again, he searched high and low, panic growing. He couldn't have lost the new member of the family! Sal would be sad. Cane would be sad. Everyone would make sad faces with their lips and their eyes and their shoulders. He had to fix this. He stalked off carefully around to the safer parts of the forest nearby. There was a mighty crash of rustling branches, the snapping of twigs... And soon enough the monster had created a vaguely human shaped skeleton.

He carefully dressed it, and stood it up by the door, then stepped back to inspect it. Ope. It looked too skinny. And it had no head. He paced back and forth in front of the construct, and loped off once more. He returned with a hoodie stuffed full of leaves, and settled down to work at stuffing the scarecrow with the leaves, careful of lumps and overstuffing. Again, he stepped back.

And it still had no head. He gave a low whine, and rubbed at his face. What was worse than losing the boy? Bringing him back with no head! He paced, and moved away. It took him so very long to find something that looked head-shaped enough to stick onto the construct... He plucked an almost perfectly round watermelon from a patch of them in a fenced in yard in the forest, ignoring the whimpering dog that had been meant to protect the garden. Never mind that he'd smashed quite a few in his search. Bringing his prize home, he sat down next to the Patpat mannequin, and started to carve carefully with a stick.

He finally managed to make a face. A smile, and two lopsided eyes, and two holes for nostrils. Well. It was certainly a face! He stared for a few moments, and hummed, before slashing whiskers into the face. For good measure. Nobody would ever know! Proudly, he jammed the melon onto the neck stick, and stepped back, observing his work. Lo and behold! Patpat in the flesh! Er... sticks. And leaves. Now he couldn't get in trouble. He picked up the smaller form, and carried it into the house with him, setting it near the bottom of stairs in the basement. That way, if anyone asked, he could pretend he knew exactly where Patpat was!

Good job, Salem. Good job.