I saunter by the dumpster where Murray hangs out, making sure he catches my scent as I pass through. I resist the urge to rub against the corner and mark it for myself. That would be going too far. I just want to make him miss me, not follow me home.
Around the corner, I tiptoe across the ledge of the picture window at Wong’s. The diners on the other side notice me eyeballing their late-night crabfest and offer me tasty morsels, but I can’t stop. I hop down and pick up the pace.
Block after block rolls past as I pad across the city. Alleys, parks, thoroughfares. Each landmark an opportunity for adventure, each smell a new story. Another time. I’m cutting it too close as it is.
I’m scuttling beneath cars in a parking lot when the tingling starts. Why did I stray so far tonight? Stealth abandoned, I race along the sidewalk under streetlights. I can make it.
I think.
I barrel through the tiny doorway as the tingling turns to burning. Wet crunching noises quickly follow. I manage to heave my growing, stretching body all the way inside before the change is complete.
Made it.
Beyond exhausted, I climb onto the couch and fall immediately to sleep in full view of the rising sun, only twitching once when my collar slips onto the floor. Next full moon, I’ll make sure to add a watch.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.
