The smell of fear slowly dissipated in the air as the roar of the engines died down to a constant rumble. Nostrils flared and ears twitched as the residents of the crates tried to work out what was going on.

“So, what’re you in for?” asked a Rottweiler to his neighbour, a perplexed and none-too-bright Border Collie named Danny who was pacing around his crate with his nose to the ground.

“I don’t quite follow you,” came the reply through the air holes.

“Well, is it vacation, relocation or extradition? Did your humans say ‘see you soon!’ or ‘we’ll miss you boy!’ when they shoved you in the box?”

“Oh, I think it was the ‘see you soon’ one. Yep. That was it. ‘See you at the other end’. That’s what they said,” replied Danny.

“Not extradition then.”

The others were quietly listening to the exchange, all slightly cowed by the presence of Tank, the older, world-wise Rotti so named for his size and strength. Eventually a little voice – belonging to an Airedale named Mitzie – piped up from the end of the row: “But where are we going?”

“To the other side of the world, that’s where,” replied Tank. “See, I know a little bit about humans, and the symbols on that tag on your box means we’re going a long, long way: to the West Coast.”

“To the coast?” asked Danny. “You mean the beach? Oh boy, I love the beach!” At the mention of the word tails wagged and voices yapped happily as everyone recalled the smell of the sea and the joy of chasing gulls across the warm sand. A cockatoo in a large cage nearby decided to join in the cacophony, screeching at the top of his lungs and flapping his wings.

“Quiet! All of you!” barked Tank and all fell silent except the cockatoo, who continued screaming. “Hey, does anyone in here speak bird? I didn’t even think those things were supposed to fly,” Tank growled and turned in his crate to face the direction of the racket. “Oi, you! Bird! Shut it!” Whether he took the hint from Tank’s tone or on his own initiative, the cockatoo stopped and proceeded to preen his feathers as if nothing had happened. With the noise gone, everybody’s ears pricked up at the sound of a young puppy quietly crying. In the shadows of a large crate, the handsome grey face of a little Weimaraner shuddered with fear.

“What’s his problem?” muttered a Staffordshire Bull Terrier called Sam.

“It’s his first time alone,” answered Tank. “Poor kid. This morning his was frolicking with his brothers and sisters, next thing he knows he’s shoved in a crate and being sent to ‘strengthen the bloodlines’ for some show breeder.”

“Whattya mean, poor kid?” retorted Sam. “He gets to be a stud for the rest of his days, and hey, at least he gets to keep his family jewels where they belong!”

“Ewww! TMI, darling!” giggled a little Pekingese wearing a pink designer jumper with the name FiFi emblazoned on the back. “Shame you ain’t still got yours, you seem like a nice sorta guy,” she purred, sticking her snout up to the air holes.

“Oh please, that’s enough! There's children here,” snapped Tank. “So anyway," Tank continued to Danny. “You going on holiday or moving house?”

“I don’t know, they didn’t really say,” Danny replied.

“I’m going on holiday,” chirped FiFi. “My human and I are going to a resort. She said next time we fly I get to sit with her and have a chair all to myself!”

“Shut up, sweetheart, nobody cares,” retorted Tank and FiFi sniffed indignantly. “Alright Danny, think hard and take your time. Did your humans pack just a few things in a case, or absolutely everything in boxes?”

“Ummm . . .” But before Danny could answer, a strange, heavily-accented voice broke through the engine drone. “Weeee’re mooooving hooooouuuusssse, theeeey packt theeee boxsssesss,” it said and all of the dogs froze in shock. Even Tank was taken aback.

“Wait, was that a cat?”

“Ah, yeah,” Danny replied. “That was Fluffy. I share humans with her.”

“Hang on, you taught a cat how to speak dog?”

“Well, I had no one else to talk to!” Danny spluttered indignantly. All the dogs paused for a second, before breaking into howls of laughter. Even the cockatoo seemed to find it funny.

But the laughter turned to panic and the smell of fear quickly filled the hold once more as the plane lurched and the world slanted sharply. The cockatoo continued to scream as the plane bumped and the brakes roared. After what felt like far too long they finally stopped, each wet nose at the bars waiting to see where they would be taken next.

Food wandered through the weeds, stopping frequently to sniff the air and wash the dirt off its whiskers. The falcon clicked his beak in anticipation. He wasn't starving – not here in town, where fat, fearless squirrels lounged lazily in the summer sun. No, not starving, but it was time for a snack.

The food wandered under a bush. The falcon waited.

I could smell the strawberries from here. There was a fence in the way, but I was pretty sure I could burrow under it. Digging was easy; it was climbing that gave me problems. No worries – under the fence instead of over it. I crawled under the bush that pushed up against the fence. It was a tight squeeze for me, so there was no way in for a cat.

The sweet, tangy scent of the berries was making me drool; it had been too long since I had eaten fresh fruit, and my stomach was ready to tear free of my body and make a run for the patch without me. I pushed a sunflower seed out of my cheek pouch and nibbled at it, hoping it would calm the hunger. Instead, my belly growled so violently that it hurt. I considered eating another seed, but my food supply was dreadfully low, even after being free for only a few days. It was clear I needed to ration my food, despite the thunderous protests from my innards.

I sat and pushed all the food out of my cheeks. The pile of seeds and pellets was woefully small. If I couldn't reach the strawberries, my food wouldn't last a week. I wouldn't last much longer. I had to start digging.

Waiting, waiting, but the food stayed hidden. The falcon could find other food, but now he was curious, and today curiosity trumped hunger. Peering through the thorny branches, he could see the food moving around. It stuffed a pile of seeds into its mouth, then walked over to the fence. The food seemed quite interested in the barrier for reasons the falcon couldn't see. Then he realized the food didn't care about the fence.

Ah! A berry patch! So that was it. He fluttered his wings in frustration. The food seemed intent on getting to the strawberries, and he doubted it would leave the bush anytime soon.

I dug a few test holes to see where the soil would be the softest. It seemed the best place was near the edge of the bush, where it seemed some small plants had recently been pulled out of the ground. Unfortunately, the best place was also the most dangerous, as I would nearly be out in the open, where a cat would be likely to snag me. So it seemed I had to choose between starving to death and being dinner.

I chose to take my chances with the cats.

The food was nearly in reach, but it was still under cover. If the falcon tried now, it would have more than enough time to hide.

The food was an excellent burrower. The falcon was impressed; it had taken no time at all for it to reach the bottoms of the wooden slats. In a few short minutes, it would be on the other side, just one step closer to dinner.

I emerged on the other side of the fence covered in filth, dirt clogging my nostrils. Sneezing every other step, I managed to reach the strawberry patch in less than a minute.

Oh, the strawberry patch! I dove headfirst into the first berry I found. Lusciousness dripped down my chin and pooled on the ground; I was so happy I slurped up the puddle, dirt be damned!

For the first time since my escape, I believed that I would make it, that I would be able to survive in the outside world.

I was ready to start my brand new life.

The falcon watched the food engorge itself and waddle out of the patch. He smiled – it was snack time.

I am The Hunter, the pinnacle of all life. I mesmerise with green eyes like dragon fire and strike with a lightning flash of graceful power. Countless prey have perished in my claws, and I have licked clean their weakling blood from my teeth. My progeny are legion; litters from litters have grown strong and elegant to the glory of their sire. I am The Hunter, and I am all that matters.

The days shorten, the air cools. After the sun has gone I prowl stealthily from Home to the quiet grove. I am a silent shadow, hidden, watching all; the omniscient lord of the vespertines. There is a rustle in the grass. My eyes and ears pivot as one to the sound and I perceive her: a field-mouse imprudently meandering through my trap. I tense, I coil, I grip at the earth with the hooks of my claws for purchase and wait for my moment, throbbing torrents of blood pulsing in my ears ever faster all the while.

A flash strike, instant high-pitched frenzy and tumult follow. The world somersaults around me, but my claws are empty and my fangs are dry. Righting myself, I turn to seek out my mark, but once again all around is stillness and haunting twilight shadow. Her trail leads back to the thicket from whence she came. I cannot pursue. As too often of late, I have failed in the hunt, and again the strike has brought pain to my stomach and right hindquarter. As my breath returns and the rapid pounding of blood subsides, I feel the cutting cold of an evening breeze and all that makes sense now is Home.

I share Home with The Tall One, but I tolerate her as it suits me. For no more than my ingratiating purr and leg-weaving dance she shares The Docile Prey on which I feed, soft and uniform, without bone or giblet. Tonight I can eat only a little; the pain is gnawing at my middle, and I limp to my warm woollen nest to sleep. I am disturbed a little later by The Tall One, who tries to groom me with her hand. She makes a strange sound that I do not like: a rhythmic heaving, gasping and gurgling. Her face is wet with water spilling from reddened eyes into furrows of skin that she does not normally display. I turn away from her unsettling presence. After she leaves me, I lick clean the fur she has despoiled with her touch. Some of it comes away, too easily rasped from the skin that is hanging loose over the bones in my side. I sleep once more.

When I awake it is already light, yet I am still weary. I feel a lurch to the side and raise my head. My nest is being lifted and carried by The Tall One and my exit is barred with strips of hard, scentless metal. I rise to my feet, but the world tilts and turns around me. Sickness combines with the ache coming in waves from my middle, and my right hind-leg buckles painfully as I fall back down. I bristle and hiss as my nest is laid down in a small and unfamiliar enclosed place that smells of The Tall One. She sits down next to me, and then there is a steady loud rumble as I feel the world tilting and swaying once again. Through the bars of my would-be escape I look up to see the sky and treetops of a blurred world rushing past with frightening pace.

Eventually the tilting and reeling stop; the loud rumble halts abruptly. My nest is lifted once more from the enclosed space and through the bright open air into a terrifying white-walled room that stinks with a heady mix of other Hunters, Dogs, Prey and Tall Ones.

After a short time the bars impeding my egress are suddenly lifted and I prepare to spring free, but a hand grabs my scruff, I am pulled out, and a second pair of hands clasp onto my hindquarters. I struggle and twist but their grip tightens as I am placed belly-down on a flat surface. I look up to see that it is two male Tall Ones who are holding me down. My hair is on end, my claws and fangs exposed. I am The Hunter, and they will fear this awesome display of power.

There is a sting in my front paw. I hiss, and strike with my other limbs, but I am restrained and weakened. After a couple of seconds I try to fight free once more but I am held fast. A sudden and profound drowsiness comes over me and I close my eyes.

I am The Hunter, the feared, the paragon of carnivores. I will never be subjugated or contained. I will sleep now and regain my strength. When I awake my captors will feel the deepest scratch and most cutting bite of my defiance.

I remember January 22, 1972.

I was living with my family in a small zoo in Cleveland, Ohio. Those were happy times — we always had plenty to eat; Mr. Harrison, the keeper, was gentle and kind; and we enjoyed seeing the children who came to watch us through the bars of our enclosure. But that all changed on that Saturday in January, when a man came from the Mackenzie Brothers Traveling Circus. He bought me and took me away. His name was Mr. Binder.

I remember the weather, cold and dismal, and an ominous sky that threatened rain. I remember the way I trumpeted in fear, touching my short gray trunk against my mother's one last time as they prodded and pushed me toward a waiting truck. Be brave, little one. Never forget that Mama loves you. I remember the tears in her large eyes as she turned away to comfort my two sisters.

I remember August 10, 1973. After a year of intense training under Mr. Binder's wicked and watchful eye, I was christened "Dancing Darlene" and made my debut in Ralston, Nebraska. Under the bright lights of the big top, I lumbered about waving a yellow flag with my trunk, stepping back and forth, back and forth, one-two, one-two, as the crowd clapped and cheered. The clowns laughed at me and told me what a fine job I was doing, but my terrified eyes were fixed on Mr. Binder, standing beside the ringmaster with a whip in his hand and a menacing frown on his face.

I remember each and every one of the lashes, kicks, and cigarette burns I received over the next twenty years. I remember the Wednesday in 1979 when Mr. Binder told me that if I ever dropped the flag again he'd shoot me dead. I remember the Sunday in 1986 when he forced me to perform with an injured foot. I remember Kentucky, and Minnesota, and Oregon.

And I remember October 12, 1993. Mr. Binder became impatient with me and struck me with a shovel, screaming that I was the stupidest animal he'd ever seen. I picked him up with my tusks and hurled him against a wall, then brought my foot down on his head. I knew they'd kill me — after all, they had put down Juggling Jeffrey six years earlier, and all he did was break a trainer's hand. I didn't care. I didn't want to live anymore. All that mattered was making sure Mr. Binder would never hurt me or anyone else again. All that mattered was knowing the pain would finally end.

But they didn't kill me. There were protests and an investigation, and the Mackenzie Brothers Traveling Circus was shut down. I was purchased by an old man named Mr. Morgan and sent to live on his private nature reserve. I remember the shocking sense of openness when they released me onto a grassy plain ... the feel of soft earth under my heavy feet ... the fresh smell of timothy hay ... the taste of cold, clean water. The taste of freedom!

I remember June 14, 1998, when my daughter was born, an eighth-of-a-ton bundle of joy. I watched her chase butterflies. I watched her mingle with the others in my small herd, playing with them, learning from them, and my heart swelled with fierce pride.

I remember late last week, when Mr. Morgan's acres were sold at a sheriff's auction. I'm on the road again, only this time my daughter is with me. We're huddled in a trailer, watching through cracks between the narrow slats as farms and factories stream past in an endless procession, on our way to a safari park somewhere in California.

And after that? Who knows. We'll go somewhere else ... we'll make new memories ... we'll learn new lessons that my daughter will pass on to her children, and her children's children. So many memories, some terrible, some wonderful, each one as vivid as anything that happened yesterday. Every scar on my wrinkled, leathery hide tells a different story.

As I coil my long gray trunk affectionately around my daughter's, I know that I can never protect her from all the inevitable pains that are part and parcel of this life. Still, I have faith in her. She's a survivor, like me.

Be brave, little one. Never forget that Mama loves you.

Spot quivered with excitement, this was his first trip away from the shallows. In spite of all his attempts at nonchalance, the colours rippling across his skin betrayed him. He watched the more experienced travelers readying their mounts. He turned to the silver fish beside him and began stroking it again. It hovered in the water while Spot watched the leaders for cues.

Even at the back of the pack, Spot could see the giant Ozmodeus preparing for his lift off. The great octopus had an eye that was larger than Spot could span with his tentacles. Ozmodeus climbed into the bag of water made from the toughened skin of a transparent monster of the deep. The giant had sunk to the depths to do battle with the immense creature himself. He had returned minus a tentacle. It had only partially grow back in the time it took to prepare the skin. Some made up the bag the giant would ride in, the rest was shaped into an even larger bag. Ozmodeus' acolytes held it over the vent and it slowly filled with hot gas.

After hours of watching and waiting the balloon lifted above the surface of the ocean. A massive tentacle waved and the honour guard mounted up. As the offshore breeze wafted the gigantic craft away from the shore, Spot held on tight to his flying fish as it picked up speed and finally lifted out of the water for more spans than he could figure. All around him other fish carried his companions in similar flights.

Spot loved the speed of the flying fish. The cool air sent blue shades chasing the shivers down his arms. He could see the colours of the other octopi from red to yellow to blue. Fractal at the front showed only a calm green with an occasional ripple to adjust the formation. They surrounded the balloon as it drifted over the waves. After that first wave, Spot only caught murky glimpses through the skin bag and dark water.

As the sun lowered to the horizon, Spot was as tired as he had ever been. Even so he clutched the fish and endured the constant cold flight and only slightly warmer plunge into the water. Just as the sun disappeared in a blink of green light, the balloon dragged in the water dumping Ozmodeus unceremoniously into the ocean. The giant was in worse shape than Spot. He just hung in the water pumping water through his gills. Now it was time for the guards to earn their honour.

They circled Ozmodeus, only occasionally goading their mounts into short leaps. As the moon rose Spot saw dreadful triangular fins moving toward them. Flashing white in warning he pushed his silver fish toward the intruders. Other members of the escort followed. The sharks weren't large, but they were a threat to their leader in his weakened state. They would have to be deterred. Spot timed a jump to clear the grey shark, and managed to drop off just as the shark in turn struck at the flying fish. Spot stung the shark and allowed himself to sink with the dying fish. Other guards attacked the remaining sharks. Some escaped the toothy maws of their victims, others stung as they died. No shark survived to approach Ozmodeus.

Spot was an exhausted gray as he caught hold of a loose mount and stroked it into calm. He pulled himself onto the flying fish and, with his remaining companions, returned to the defensive circle around the slowly recovering giant. He took position in the closest circle. Fractal flashed him a red of congratulations, and even Ozmodeus managed a wave of thanks. In the morning their journey would continue as the sun's heat caused the balloon to rise once more out of the water.

Every five years the octopi chanced this quest. The pacific giant needed to find a mate, but none were close enough to reach by swimming. Over the decades they had learned to fly, but the dark nights floating almost comatose in the ocean were too dangerous. The giants recruited the help of the tiny blue ringed octopus. One of the most venomous creatures in all the oceans, the tiny cousins protected the giants through the night. They learned to ride the flying fish and to defend their immense cousins on their quest to continue their species. Less than half the tiny escort would survive to escort an infant giant back to their shallows.

Spot watched the balloon expand and lift its burden from the waves. Flashing yellow to acknowledge Fractal's command, he nudged his mount into the first long flight of the day.

Keesha had walked down this trail before. She strutted proudly, showing off her thick black coat with striking white markings. But this time was different. She dragged along a down filled comforter- a gift from Mommy long ago when … “Oh, well, let’s not go there,” she thought. “Only happy thoughts today.”

A fly tickled her nose. But when she shook her head she didn’t hear the familiar jingle of those humiliating tags. “Those are a sign of authority and I don’t need anybody,” she pouted. Of course she had left those labels behind.

Her spirits were high as she strolled along the narrow dirt path. She had found this serene paradise months earlier, in the spring. The pond was clear and full of life. She saw her first butterfly, and high in a nest she spied a bird feeding it’s babies. Even the ants put on a show as they paraded by with large leaf banners. She happily lazed away the summer days in this little hideaway.

All her critter friends would be surprised to see that this time she would be staying. She tried to focus on her new found independence and unrealized adventures. But there was something nagging at her heart that she couldn’t quite put into feelings.

Five years earlier when Keesha was just a kitten, she became lost. She was hungry and very afraid. Days later she was greatly relieved to be found and nursed back to health by a nice lady named Mommy.

Still, Keesha didn’t belong there; they had a family already. Two dogs had the run of the house and Mommy was allergic to cats. Keesha was anxious that she would be sent to one of those scary places where the animals cry and cringe and long for someone to love them. Instead, Mommy set up a cozy spot by the window for Keesha to call a ‘forever home’.

Over the years two more homeless cats were added to the family. Keesha never liked, or understood, the arrangement but life was good. There was always plenty of healthy food and treats, and none of them was ever cold or sick.

Keesha always felt special in the family hierarchy. She would out-wait that pesky mouse from under the refrigerator even if it took all night. And she always brought home pretty bits of yellow feathers, or something green and squiggly.

But a few weeks ago the unthinkable happened. Mommy’s friend and her dog had no place to live, so Mommy invited them to stay with the family until they got a place of their own. “Just for a little while,” she promised.

Well, Keesha had heard those words before when the last two cats stayed. For a full week she had howled and acted out, but nothing would make them go away. So, this time she decided to move to a spacious place where there was no more competition.

Arriving at the pond, Keesha spread out her comforter. Hmm, she hadn’t noticed that tear before and now the feathers were flying out in the brisk wind. It was late autumn and by then most of the birds had headed south. The ground seemed harder than usual and then she felt the start of a sprinkle. “This sure wasn’t the best day I could have left,” she grumbled to herself.

Then she heard a little squeak coming from the brush. She leaned closer to see that it was Patch, squatting fearfully in a mud puddle. She had seen him before in the distance- skinny, shy and tired looking with his eye messed up. She never heard his jingle tags and realized now that he had no home. No one loved him.

A rush of emotion flooded in and tears came to Keesha’s eyes. All summer long while she enjoyed cloud watching and chasing frogs, Patch was desperately searching- and many times fighting- for any small parcel of food. He was too hungry, too cold, too unhappy to enjoy the sweet scent of the wildflowers or anything else.

Suddenly Keesha longed for home- her warm basket, a full tummy and even those temporary visitors. She had a family who loved her and would always keep her safe. She was sure Patch would switch places with her in an instant. “But he won’t have to!” she thought with excitement. She knew a nice lady named Mommy who would fix him up and love him.

Patch and Keesha made a mad dash for home and Mommy set up another window
basket for their newest family member. As fast as she could Keesha wiggled back into her pink collar. But for the first time, she noticed an inscription on the noisy jingle tags- “Keesha Is Loved, Please Return Her …”

With a happy heart she snuggled into her basket- her ‘forever home’.

The best thing about Bronwyn was the way her fur glistened like onyx in the moonlight. The worst thing about my kitten of a boss was the cheer in her voice whenever she called me before dawn.

"Yeah, I'm still asleep; it's four o'clock, you twit," I growled.

Bronwyn tsked merrily. "Well, you'd better get up soon, or you're going to miss your flight."

"Uh huh... Wait, what? I'm off this weekend, 'member? Mmmg'night." I tossed the phone across the room and shoved my head under the pillow.

"Marcus? Are you there?" I could hear her silky voice emanating from my closet. I tried to convince myself I was deaf, but I knew the best way to keep my job – and my life – was to crawl out of bed and find my phone.

"Yeah, don't blow a fuse, I'm here. What friggin' flight?"

==========

The 6:44 AM flight to Denver left on time with me on it. I had a lovely view of the wing, and the cub sitting in front of me couldn't keep his tail off my tray. Purely by accident, one of my claws snagged his wandering appendage when I reached for my cola. He cried for ten minutes – a small price to pay for tail-free peanuts. The elderly lioness across the aisle chuckled at my ordeal.

"Those cubs seem to get rowdier all the time, don't they?"

"Yes ma'am, they do. You just have to know how to handle them." I unsheathed a claw and waggled it with a wink and a grin.

"You're a bit of a rascal yourself, young tiger!" she scoffed; I grinned a little wider. "You smile, but that devil-may-care attitude is going to get you into trouble."

"A life without danger is no life at all." I pointed to the magazine in her lap. "Take that cat on the cover. If he hadn't spent his life breaking every law in the book, we wouldn't be here today. The government would still be run by gorillas, and you and I and that brat in the seat in front of me would still be considered too violent – too undesirable – to share the friendly skies with those friggin' monkeys." A silverback two rows up turned and threw me a dangerous glare. "Sorry, Gramps. I meant 'apes'." He grunted in satisfaction and went back to his newspaper.

The lioness shook her head. "Victor Owens was a great tiger. He fought so that you could have your ride in luxury, and he paid for it with his life." She held out the magazine. "It would behoove you to learn more about him. Maybe you'll end up doing some good in this world. Lord knows it needs it."

I took the magazine with as much false humility as I could muster. Smiling, she dismissed my playacting with a wave of her paw.

I sat back and opened to the cover article. Half a dozen subscription cards fell out onto my lap. Grumbling, I gathered them up and was about to stuff them into the seat pocket when one of them caught my eye. Oh, Granny, you rascal! Slipping the cards into my shirt pocket, I started to read about the late civil rights activist Victor Owens.

==========

The plane landed at DIA fifteen minutes late, not that it mattered much to me. I headed straight to the rental car counter and, after handing them the appropriate false identification and credit card, left with the keys to a dark blue sedan. It wasn't long before I was cruising down the highway in my generic-looking – and therefore anonymous – rental car with Victor Owens staring up at me from the passenger seat.

I glanced at the glossy image of Granny's hero and sighed. She was right; this world did need some good in it, and it was a happy coincidence that her idea of what was good necessitated a cat with my ethics and skill set.

With a street map taped to the steering wheel to guide me, the address on the subscription card was easy to find. It was in a low-rent section of town, meaning it was populated mainly by immigrant cats – like me – with a few downtrodden gorillas thrown in for excitement.

I found him in a garbage-strewn alley behind a pawn shop. He had grown a paunch and stopped shaving his head, and the tattoo on his bicep was now an incoherent mass of squiggles instead of a raised fist, but it was him. I had watched enough of the trial to recognize that stiff-legged gait anywhere; if he had disguised himself as a giraffe, his walk still would have given him away.

He saw me and spat in my face, as he had done to Owens. I picked up an empty bottle and grinned. It was time to go to work.

I’m Seymour, a wolf. You know, live in the forest, howl at the moon, eat unwary travelers, scratch at fleas, lick my... well let’s not go there. I am in the forest scratching at the afore-mentioned fleas, when this dame shows up. I’m not hungry at the time, and besides she floated in, and I was sort of curious what this was all about.

“Hi!” she said. “I am Min, the good witch of the north.”

“How nice for you,” I replied, “and I should care, why?”

“Silly wolf, I am your fairy godmother.”

“I thought you looked familiar. Aren’t you supposed to have a wand though?”

“And that is exactly the point,” she smiled, “I lost it in the woods, and I need you to be a good little wolf and find it for me.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea *where* in the woods it might be?”

“If I did, I would have it already now wouldn’t I?” and with that she floated back into the sky.

“Great,” I said to nobody in particular. The woods were only 200 square miles or so. Piece of cake. All I had to do is find a stick in them. I figured I should be done around the 12th of never. I started off in a lope, not really knowing where I was going, but it was a cinch the wand wasn’t here, so it must be somewhere else. I am kind of quick about things like that. I am traveling maybe three hours, and starting to get hungry, when I spot this fat frog by the side of the road. What the heck, I think, lunch is in order, and I do like it when it just sits there waiting for me.

“Greetings wolf,” the frog said. “I suppose you are here because you want my help in finding something.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, and you already helped me find it: lunch.”

“I would hardly make a mouthful. Plus I am slimy. Would a pig do better?”

“Much, do you know where I can find one?”

“Just follow me”

I followed the green one a ways until we came to a clearing. Standing there in the clearing was a house made of sticks. I figured I knew what came next.

“Am I supposed to do the huff and puff routine?”

“Last time I looked that didn’t work, he only ran to the next house.”

“Do you have something better in mind?”

“I go in and chase him out.”

“You go in and... what? How is a frog supposed to chase a pig?”

“I will tell him I am a toad, and will give him warts if I catch him.”

“That makes so little sense it actually might work. OK, give it a try.”

The frog enters A short time later, a pig comes running out, squealing, chased by the frog. I was laughing so hard I almost forgot to catch the pig. Almost: It was delicious. As I was chowing down, the frog was zapping various flies. Well, to each his own lunch. Actually, I was a bit envious. He didn’t need to go hunt down lunch, it came to him. As I ate my fill, I became curious.

“Hey frog, why is it you can talk?”

“Actually, I am an enchanted prince. I am looking for a beautiful princess to kiss me.”

“I might be able to help there. My fairy godmother sent me looking for her magic wand. You give me a hand, I help you. Do we have a deal?”

“Sounds good. Can you describe this ‘wand’ for me?”

“Sure, it is basically a glowing stick.”

“Hmmm....,” the frog said, and hopped back into the house of sticks.

“Nah,” I thought, “that would be too easy.” Sure enough though, that fool frog came out of the house with the wand in its mouth.

“Nice work. What is your name anyway?”

“Thrth,” he said around the wand.

“Why don’t you put that down and try again?”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce? Er, how did you get that name?”

“Royalty is required to wear a lot of purple colored clothes.”

“OK, and?”

“There is a manly way to do that... and a less than manly way.”

“I see. Then Bruce is not your given name?”

“Percival.”

“I think changing it to Bruce is a good career move. Anyway, my fairy godmother, Min, claims to be a good witch, but she is actually a fairy princess. I think I need to get you two together, and that wand is a good start.”

“Gee, a fairy princess? I don’t know.”

“Bruce, what could you possibly have against fairies?”

The frog and I brought the wand back to Min, who kissed Bruce on the nose changing him into Prince Bruce, and they lived happily ever after.

“I’m late! I’m late! …for a very important date! No time to say ‘hello’ ‘good-bye’. I’m late! I’m LATE! I’M LATE!” panicked the White Rabbit as he snapped closed his pocket watch and raced towards the rabbit hole.

“Why do I always do this to myself? I never seem to learn. What was I doing this time that put me behind schedule?” he quizzed himself as he took the final hop that landed him feet first in the hole. Looking around he noticed a little blonde-headed girl in a blue dress with a white pinafore staring quizzically at him. His spirit sank as he descended into the blackness of the tunnel.

Which was worse…being late for his appointment with the Queen or inadvertently showing a human the entrance to Wonderland? Oh, that was a tough choice. The least little thing had the Queen racing around yelling “Off with his head!” and he really did value having his head attached to the rest of his body. On the other hand, there was the whole issue of a non-resident of Wonderland showing up for a visit. That had a lot of unpleasant consequences attached to it, too. Oh…bother! He sighed as he landed on his feet ready to sprint to the castle.

Racing through the door of Wonderland’s anti-room, he thought back over his day to this point. Beyond the fact that he was a rabbit and loved to sprint from here to there, why was he running late…again?

He had awaken early this morning and had a leisurely breakfast with a lovely cup of tea because he knew that he had several hours before he needed to appear at the Queen’s court. It took exactly 25 minutes and 50 seconds to reach the courtyard from the entrance of his rabbit hole if he traveled at a gentle hop.

After he finished breakfast he sat outside taking a sunbath. It was a clear, beautiful day and the fragrance of the hyacinth wafted through the air. It was a wonderful spring morning; perfect for visiting the Queen in Wonderland.

In the distance he saw a relative coming his way… Suddenly, it hit him … that’s when his day started getting off track. At first, he thought it was Peter Cottontail, a distant cousin, but instantly knew better. Peter usually carried a white basket filled with colorful eggs and chocolate bunnies; hiding them amid the grass and under bushes. While the coming visitor appeared similar to Peter in color, he was smaller.

No, the coming visitor was Fiver, a really distant cousin who qualified as really strange, too. Fiver was the reason he was now making a mad dash towards the Queen’s castle. The White Rabbit’s ears perked up as he heard the Queen’s clock tolling the 15 minutes prior to the hour. If he hurried he still could make his appointment with the Queen. He picked up his pace.

Now where was he? Oh yeah, Fiver. Fiver made a visit and had a vision. What was it that he had said? Careful not to slow down, the White Rabbit struggled to remember the Longfellow-esque rhyme that wasn’t so eloquent.

Listen my children and you shall hear
A tale of a rabbit, quiet and dear,
On the eighteenth of April, in Two thousand five;
He went for a stroll and then took a dive.

Distressed by a girl in a little blue dress
Who stared at the rabbit and started this mess.
He jumped down the hole after closing his watch
White Rabbit’s troubles now soared up a notch.

Rabbit was late to visit the Queen.
The little blonde girl really shouldn’t be seen.
Off to the Hatter’s Rabbit raced from the start
Past Cheshire Cat who thought himself smart.

The little girl followed him all through the land
Where’re he looked there she would stand.
He would visit the Queen and troubles would grow.
The end of this tale I really don’t know.

With those final words Fiver collapsed and Rabbit spent the rest of the morning reviving him and trying to get Fiver to explain his vision. Fiver just stared at White Rabbit blankly.

* * * * *

He made a final leap and slid through the courtyard buffing the marble tiles with his white, cottontail. Coming to a stop, he pulled out his pocket watch to check its accuracy against the castle’s clock as it tolled the final stroke of noon. Pleased, he stood up and dusted himself off. Adjusting his waistcoat, a feeling of horror overcame him. There in front of him was the Queen racing towards him shouting “Off with his head!” while behind him the little blonde-headed girl in the blue dress with the white pinafore stared into the courtyard with the most quizzical of looks.

(A special thanks to Walt Disney's "Alice in Wonderland" for the inspiration as well as Peter Cottontail, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Richard Adam's "Watership Down". Thought about tying in Peter Rabbit as well as the Velveteen Rabbit, but couldn't keep it at 800 words.)

The bustle surrounding me is too much for me to take. I fight back another overpowering urge to just give up right now and collapse upon the sidewalk in exhaustion. How could this have happened? It was only this morning that I, the runt of my mom, Kit Kat’s, litter, was going to a new home with a loving family—something I had only dreamt of until this fateful day. But now, I am struggling to keep my head up as I paw my way through the busy feet of humans, on a path going to who knows where. In fact, I don’t even know where I am now. All I remember is getting to the house this afternoon and being so happy to prance across the comfy carpet that greeted me. But this only lasted for a very few minutes, for a large human picked me up in one swift movement and put me outside. At first I figured someone would come out and bring me back in, so I waited. But after an hour of waiting, the sun was going down and I was beginning to get chilled. So, I decided to try to find somewhere to snuggle up in until they brought me back inside. Not only was this unproductive, but I got lost on the way. Now here I am, inches away from getting crushed to a pulp by a massive foot. ‘I’m giving up,’ I say to myself as I crawl through the feet to reach the inner side of the walkway where I find an alley. There, sitting in my wake, is a cardboard box. I hobble over to it to peer inside. It held nothing but a worn down but cozy looking leather jacket. I don’t even bother to look around as I climbed inside the comfy looking box. I had just settled myself inside one of the sleeves of the jacket when I hear a rustling noise outside the box. I freeze with fear. What if I was in someone else’s bed?! What if that someone was much bigger than my tiny kitten self?! My eyes widened with fear as I feel the jacket being picked up from under me. I dig my nails into the hard fabric in a feeble attempt to stay inside the sleeve. I find this unsuccessful as the jacket is lifted, unraveling from its jumbled state in the box. My claws come lose from their grips on the cloth and I prepare to land on my feet just like my mom did whenever she had jumped, but I loose my footing in mid-air. I look down in surprise as I see the ground rapidly growing closer to my face. I quickly squeeze my eyes shut as I fall to my death. But instead of hitting the concrete, I am caught by a warm squishy surface. I open one eye to peek at my savior. It is a human.
“Don’t worry little kitty, I’ve got you,” the human tells me as it cuddles me to its warm, beating chest. I notice that it is a male human by the deepness of his voice and his distinct smell of dirt. Not as cautiously as last time, I look up at him to find that he has the same, dark colored fur as me; his just as matted as mine. I snuggle closer to him and purr as he strokes behind my ears. Just as I begin to really trust him, he starts shaking and making a gasping sort of sound. I become scared and try to escape his hold on me, but the shaking and gasping stops just before I climb out of his arms.
“I’m sorry kitty, I’m scared too,” the human says to me as he holds me to the soft skin on his face. I then see a shiny surface form on his cheek. He was leaking water from his eyes! I quickly lap up the streams of salty liquid before the fall. The human laughs and cuddles me in his jacket again. This time he gazes down at me and whispers, “But it's okay, we can take care of each other, that way neither of us has to be scared.”
It was then that I realized I wasn’t quite lost anymore; I was exactly where I wanted to be—home.