The meek rodent squirmed in my grasp as I began to squeeze violently, the satisfying sound of crunching bones drifting to my ears. His attempts to break free grew weaker and weaker with each passing second. A few last breaths were cast and the body soon fell limp in my fangs. Dinner was finally served.

Although this rat was much more plump and ravishing than my previous kills, I wasn't too eager to feast on it right away. It was the standard meal every time— not like breakfast would be any different.

I fixed my jaws on the carcass as I gently lifted it off the ground and approached the hills, where I was greeted with the same path I always took to the barns. I sauntered onwards, the dirt warm under my paws. Heading inside, I approached my main feasting spot: the dented grass bed proving the numerous times I had eaten there after a hunt. It was the witness of all meal courses consisting between mouse and rat.

Plopping myself in the center, I dropped the rat at my feet. The acquainted flavor of blood caked my teeth, already making me dissatisfied with my meal. I knew all too well I was growing tired of this schedule I seemed to have followed everyday.

In fact, this meal was more of a duty rather than a necessity.

Exhaling, I scanned the rest of the barn for something of leisure afterwards. Of course the stalls remained empty and the haystacks hadn't been tampered with for months, though I had noticed the skylights and windows somehow managed to pack on more dust than last season. Nothing new.

The only other source of life here were a few of my barn-mates, who also sought refuge here after a kill.

I observed our petite community that was housed here, my emotions varying and differing between each cat. It was then I realized how many individuals had somehow managed to land under my disapproval— either for something they did or for simply existing.

Sunrise, for example, was one of the very few I had fostered a liking to. She was a senior soul who I had shared many mornings with; where we busied ourselves with the fish or scaled the haystacks that rested upon each other in the fields. Just like me, she was independent and kept to herself.

But when I looked at a cat like Pisces, who believed the whole world revolves around her, it reminded me why it's rather difficult to fit in here. Unfortunately, more cats immensely related to her than Sunrise, so listening to the same sob-stories had become inevitable at this point.

I kept my gaze fixed on Sunrise, who seemed to be having a gratifying conversation with Bloom— a flocculent Persian with a butterscotch coat that appeared dull when next to Sunrise. Compared to her, Sunrise had a fascinating chocolate pelt. Her snowshoe markings left half of her face, chest, belly, and arms dipped with a pure white, making her appear rather stunning despite being in her senior years.

From the looks of it, her narrowed blue eyes told me she was ready for a nap. It was unfortunate to know Bloom had a reputation for being quite talkative. I wouldn't be surprised if she was secretly getting overwhelmed with Bloom's clamorous personality.

Having eyed them a few more moments, I glimpsed back down at my meal, toying with it between both of my paws. I didn't really have an appetite anymore. Just feeling its crooked body roll side to side left a bland taste in my mouth. I could feel I wasn't really craving rodents at the moment.

Sluggishly, I made it to my feet, catching sight of Dutch who was perched in the center of the back doors. She seemed to be watching the sun slowly set, as her posture was relaxed and slump, her long tail cupping the left side of her body. It was the perfect opportunity to socialize a bit before the day had ended.

Ditching my kill, I skipped up to her, eagerly purring upon approach. "Hey there, Dutch!" I greeted, placing myself beside her. "Didn't expect to see you here so late." Usually she was already resting in her reserved spot under the bench- and if she wasn't, she would be chatting up a storm with her other fellow senior pals.

"Good to see you, Mocha," she replied, fixing her gaze on me. "Glad you had the chance to stop by. I wanted to meet up with Sunny."

My left ear twitched as my gaze fell to the floor.

She wanted to see Sunbeam; one of the house cats that didn't rely on mice like we did. Whenever one of the barn cats wanted to see those who were privileged, it was not a good sign. Whatever the case was, it was for either personal or community reasons.

"Sunny?" I added on. "Why, what's wrong?"

Dutch shook her head in annoyance. "Oh, I just want to ask her some things about Akiria. She strut down here and acted like she owned the place this morning," her eyes slowly grew dull. "Kept pretending she had all the respect in the world. She gave me a nasty attitude, that!" Her paws shuffled into the dirt as she turned her head away. "House cats, I tell you."

Akiria. I knew her. Never spoke to her, though.

Just like the color of her coat, her nature was similar to a wildfire. I heard a lot of things about her; which were often negative interactions than welcoming traits. Mother filled me in on the fact that Akiria was the head cat of the household, but other than that I didn't know much else about her.

"What would she be doing down here?" I questioned, trying to pick up some more of the story. Dutch just shrugged.

"She came here asking for some fish, I assume. Bloom mentioned she tried persuading her to hunt. Then she took it out on me because it didn't happen." Her posture tensed as she continued, "I don't know why she couldn't just do it herself. But she let the fact slip out that the humans kept forgetting to leave food out these past few mornings."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The humans? Forgetting to feed their house cats? That was unheard of!

Sunbeam had complimented and bragged about her breakfast from time to time, and even then a house cat never asked for food from around here. So to hear this, especially when it revolves around a cat like Akiria, was quite odd.

"What would you even call that?" I asked, looking up to Dutch. The green in her eyes grew solid.

"Neglect, maybe. It's hard to tell." She responded bluntly. "It doesn't make sense the humans would just stop. They've fed them for years."

Just then, her response made me catch something. "Years?"

"Oh definitely," she nodded. "Why do you think they feel so privileged under their fancy roof? Not once have I seen their tails out here hunting like us." She continued to vent a bit more, rambling on about how things hadn't really changed and how stuck up the household members had gotten overtime.

"How long have you known everyone?" I threw out another question, causing her to sway her tail in amusement. "I wouldn't have suspected this mess lasting that long."

"Since I was young," she chuckled. "Which goes to show it has been a very long time. Nobody has left here, no," she trailed off. Her words left me lost on a few things. "If anything, some have aged along with me," she continued. "And for some, I've seen them mature."

So in conclusion; nobody has left. Why can't barn cats just leave if we are unhappy?

Before I was born, it was made clear that my siblings and my mother were captured as feral, and were later transferred to a shelter where they were adopted out and brought here. I've seen the same situation for some over the years, too. I suppose I was on the same side as Dutch because I also hadn't seen anybody leave— by choice, anyways. It made me question a few things.

"Are you sure no one has left voluntarily?" I eagerly questioned. "It'd make sense someone would leave for a bit more freedom. Or at least, I think so."

To my surprise, she shook her head. "Why would anybody leave here? We have food, water, and shelter. Anybody would at least have that common sense."

Would they really?

One could say that 'yes, it does make sense not to leave,' but my focus landed more on the results of everyone here.

I got the message nobody left, though having spent their entire lives here, it seemed like every cat was neither happy nor content with what they had. I've lost count of how many times I've heard complaints and problems from the other cats throughout the day. They were either cold, hot, injured, or hungry, even after eating a mouse or two. It was the same fate for everyone, that was true. But if it were common sense, then why would everyone still be unhappy and stay despite having their needs met?

Was leaving looked down upon and I just wasn't aware?

"Oh, there she is," Dutch's voice gave off an irritated tone.

I was met with the distant sight of Sunbeam stepping off the patio and proceeding to waddle on over to us, her red tabby markings presenting their highlights as the sun smoothly brushed her. She almost looked like a moving candlelight.

"I'm sure she can mention to Akiria about what happened. Let's just hope she listens." I stated, fixing my gaze elsewhere.

Dutch hummed a response and I could hear exhale as she stood up. "Will I be seeing you later? I apologize we weren't able to catch up." She replied, glancing back at me.

I gave her a nod. "Yeah, I'll stop by when I can. Don't worry about that last part, we'll cross paths again soon," I replied.

Her gaze fixed back at Sunbeam, now moving onwards, her ash-grey coat making her look tedious compared to the approaching star.

Sunbeam was sure in for an earful.

Yawning, I took the opposite trail, distancing myself from the two cats chatting away. Night was supposed to fall soon— it was the end to the same day I had lived through for months. It would be the same routine tomorrow, and then the next day, and then the next...

Nothing was going to change.

Dutch basically revealed the same lifestyle every cat had lived here. I suppose the only ones who experienced change were the house cats. But they were adopted for companionship: cats humans wanted for company. I knew that because of mother.

Hence why I was also aware of the reason behind living out here; it was only to complete our duties at keeping those rodents at stake.

I was nearing the tree that had greeted me every night, its leaves rustling in the mellow breeze that bid the day farewell. Warmth was still lingering in the atmosphere. The following days were easily going to be hotter, and I dreaded it due to my thicker coat. It was the sign of another year.

My claws dug into the bark, pulling myself up to the second branch. Having a firm hold, I pushed myself onto the thick wood that was decorated with emerald leaves and acorns, immediately making myself comfortable within the greenery. The tree's earthy scent allowed me to feel at ease.

As I placed my heavy head between my folded front legs, I couldn't help but recap my conversation with Dutch once more. It left me pondering on a lot of things, as odd as it did.

To start off, she has been here for quite a while, and having her spill out the fact that everybody had the fixed mindset of not leaving kept me baffled more than anything. Cats who transferred here from other barns filled me in on their own cases where cats in their previous households just simply left. It occurred more often than not. Some cases had three to five cats disappear in a single night, whereas the least to have left was two.

So in Dutch's words, did all of those cats not have common sense? Just for leaving because they were unhappy?

She claimed we had everything we needed, but I know for a fact that the majority of cats here were either unhappy or unhealthy. Sometimes both.

But why did they leave? To live a better life? To find happiness? To experience change for once?

I always wondered what was beyond those fence lines. Mother always scolded me when I was a kit for even going near them, warning me to not ever question or approach it. I know it was her way of keeping me safe but it left my curiosity growing more.

Maybe there were other cats, too, who found what they had been looking for beyond the fence lines. The one thing that the barn-life simply didn't grant them. Then I think back to what I had personally— which wasn't much.

I've been noticing how tired I've been getting just by hunting the standard rodent, and each day I struggled to find something new to invest in. I hadn't matured yet necessarily, but even so, I was living the same lifestyle as the seniors.

Eat, sleep, repeat.

Was it bad to seek more entertainment? More joy or freedom?

I don't want to live my life eating mice like everyone else. I don't want to grow up and become some cranky senior cat in the end. It just didn't...feel right to me.

I don't want my fate to end up like everyone else's.

To summarize it all, I sought more than this. Seeing the same barn house and dealing with the same cats every day had grown mentally exhausting. Not only that, but I simply didn't fit in; the senior cats had their own colonies, everyone was their own group in the household, and each younger cat here formed unbreakable bonds amongst each other— something I never had the ability to do. Admittedly, I was one of the very few cats who remained alone.

Mother and I were close, but a mother cat can't follow her kit everywhere. She already raised two before me. As a mother, she retired from the activity, so most of her days were spent resting or sunbathing. My age group itself is out of the question. I found myself not at all relating to any of them or their constant bickering.

There was no room for me to fit in.

I could feel my eyelids begin to fall, the sound of the leaves now occupying my ears. Naturally, my tail twitched with the wind. The bizarre sounds of that dangling instrument the humans kept above the patio was audible in the distance.

The day was finally coming to an end.

Sleep was slowly taking over me as my surroundings were drowned out by the darkness behind my slumber. Hopefully, tomorrow, I'll find out more about the outside world. It'd be hard with this group, but I might learn something. Maybe there'd be a possibility of me leaving, too.

Exhaling, I allowed myself to fall into the familiar embrace of sleep.