Eventually, everyone leaves for good. In the beginning, my whole world was the smell of Mother and my siblings and our warmth. We all had to push to get at Mother and, sometimes, she would just up and leave us. But before long, she would return.

Later, I could recognize Mother’s voice. Her voice could calm or silence us. When we recognized her command, we would all freeze and be quiet. When the invisible danger was past, she would release us and we could crawl around again suckling from her as much as we could and making our little noises.

She licked at each of us everyday. It was a comfort and a relief to feel her raspy tongue. But she would also leave us every day. When she was gone, all we had for warmth was each other. Every time she returned the scramble to get at her milk and the hope for her attention would start all over again.

Once I could see, I could recognize my mother and siblings. Mother was very beautiful, a smoky grey color with bright blue eyes and some white on her belly. My siblings were all different colors. I was the only black one. All that I could see of myself was black. At first, it didn’t seem to matter. We all ate and she licked us all clean. 

Over time, we learned to stand and walk. We pounced on each other and bit at each other, tumbling around in the back of the alley. I played with all my siblings, but one day, none of them wanted to pounce on me any more. I would get first chance at Mother’s milk. It seemed the natural order of things. 

We began leaving our mother’s side, scampering around our den, catching mice and bugs and anything else that wriggled or smelled of blood. Mother showed us how to hide, hunt and stalk, and I was a quick learner.

I could smell the fur of a mouse. Hear it munching, rubbing it’s face, hopping around, unaware that I watched and waited in the shadows. I would silently flex my muscles, crouching, tensing, until I knew it was within reach of my claws. Then I would pounce bringing silent death from above. Claws to clutch the desperately wriggling body and jaws to pierce behind the neck to get the first taste of the warm lifeblood and end its life. Then, I would open it up and eat the savory innards. My dark color concealed me. It seemed a good thing.

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I could catch birds in flight by leaping into the air and snatching away their little lives before they even knew they were in danger. A puff of feathers would erupt and they would be dead before we hit the ground. I made easy meals out of fat pigeons and quick little finches. 

One day, when I pressed to get close to Mother to drink her milk, she pushed me away. When I immediately tried again, she cuffed me and I tumbled away from her in shock. She didn’t push the others away. I was the largest and usually got first chance at her, but when I looked at her, she hissed and that kept me from trying again. 

I still had the warmth of my siblings, but Mother didn’t lick us any more. She showed us to make dirt and water away from our sleeping den to keep it clean. Without her milk, I found I had to hunt every day to keep my belly full. That was all I knew: the warmth of the litter and the pang of my empty belly until I filled it. We learned to retract our claws so we could play without scratching, but no one wanted to play with me any more.

Mother didn’t chase me away, so I stayed in our den and at least had the comforting warmth of the litter around me. We all saw and heard her chase cats away from us. Sometimes that’s why she had to leave us. But other times, she would simply get up and walk out the end of the alley farther than any of us, even me, had yet ventured.

But one day, Mother left and didn’t come back. We waited. We huddled in our little box at the back of our alley for warmth. I hunted every day, and now, some of my siblings also ventured out to hunt or they ate my scraps. They mewed and mewed for her. I knew why. I knew the pang of the empty stomach all too well.

Several of us wandered out farther than we’d ever gone, trying to catch her scent. I tried to remember if she’d given any indication she would not come back, but I couldn’t think of anything. I thought maybe it was me. I was the largest of us. And the meanest, it was said. I was the only all black one. I remembered that she had rejected me first. A few of my other sibs were less welcome at her belly for food, but it had been many days since I’d tasted her milk. 

I decided I couldn’t stay any longer; not after Mother had left and it was my fault. I slipped away that night, and I’m sure they didn’t miss me in the morning. Maybe she would go back for the rest of them now I was gone.