E6 — FISHING TRIP (Part 1)

Luckily, crow wisdom is seldom faulty; luckier still are those who receive it. I could have sworn their instruction was little more than play at my expense, but as I trek in the direction they suggested, a tsunami of smells crashes over me, driving back the city’s standard aromas.

Charcoal smoke, frying dough, fresh vegetables, candied fruit, sizzling beef, rendering fat, and fish—sweet, sweet fish—overwhelm my nostrils as I follow their beckoning around a street corner, eyes wide. I’ve never encountered a shopping street, but there’s no mistaking it when I arrive.

Structurally, it’s a typical human road, same as any other. Tall buildings watch over a wide, central pathway, everything drenched in concrete, metal, and glass. Noisy and not a thing left to its natural state—besides the humans themselves, I guess. However, it’s the details that differentiate this not-so-typical street. Instead of hulking metal steeds, humans occupy the central pathway. Feet tread where rubber typically reigns supreme. It’s a nice change. If only all human roads worked like this, then perhaps Chiyo would still be with me.

The humans here conduct their business in the open, hunting at booths, counters, or inside of merchandise dens with no outer wall to cut off view. It is starkly different than their typical method of scurrying into discrete commerce realms only to reemerge with bags full of secrets. 

Though these humans may have nothing to hide, they’re still human all the same. Countless droves follow their hive-minded order up and down the street, careful to stay within the appropriate directional current. Hundreds of them, all flapping their lips or staring at their rectangles. All utterly unaware that an alpha predator is perched atop a stack of boxes surveying their territory, wondering what manner of creature decides to hunt like this? Confusing as their ways may be, I’m in no place to complain. It frees me to focus fully on my task at paw.

High atop the cardboard, I pull in a long sniff. The nasal cacophony fills my nostrils, my throat, my skull, until my jowls glisten and my head is ready to burst, but I will not lose the scent of fish in the chaos. An honorable cat must ignore distraction when on the hunt. I close my eyes. Focus. Picture the fish. Isolate the smell. Filter out the extras. Take in the surroundings with another deep breath.

There!

I drop down from the boxes and wind my way through the human currents, weaving between unaware feet with ease. Slinking this way and that, scoffing at the freedom of travel these strange creatures afford me. One could not move so liberally through another cat’s hunting ground, that is certain. As I wind, a human cub reaches down for my tail. A sharp hiss and show of fang deters the loathsome thing’s grubby hand. Smart child. With a final burst of speed, I reach the far side of the street. Fish scent guides me past stalls and booths congested with frail hagglers, busy dens coated in disgusting, false light, and a glass-encased area full of humans blowing acrid smoke. But the smell of my prey draws ever closer.

Finally.

One last push through the forest of legs brings me face-to-face with my target. An elderly human stands hunched over an inclined table covered in ice. There’s so much of the stuff my nose tingles with chill as I approach. Atop the endless expanse of glistening cubes sits an unfathomable bounty of fish. Row after row. All shapes and sizes. More fish than I have ever seen. Streams and seas alike must have been emptied to amass such an endless supply. My pupils widen. My eyes dart wildly, heart pounding. The smell overtakes me; saliva rains onto the concrete.

Focus.

As I slink forward, peering up, analyzing my options, the old man eyes me. His pleasant grin sours. Finally, it seems, I have found a human wise enough to spot a predator on the prowl. The wrinkles on his weathered face droop into a guarded expression. Spotted hands flap my way, shooing me unsuccessfully as I peruse. A defense so pitiful I could take it as an insult. Maybe these stout, flat fish would be nice. Perhaps those long, spear-like ones with their alluring shine. Hmm, neither looks fat to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the old man working in his apron, murmuring bitterly. He pulls out a limp towel, spins it, and flicks it at me; yet another pathetic attempt to fight me off. He’ll need far better to stay my paws.

“Get!” He grunts. Other nearby humans take notice.

Some coo and smile, others shake their heads, and some point their rectangles at me and giggle. Why must they always act so unnaturally? I, a rival predator, dare to show myself in their territory, clearly in search of their prey, yet not a single one has the backbone to fight me off with more than a pathetic length of cloth. If not for their size and hive-mind, these beasts would surely fall below even squirrels on the food chain.

I ignore their spineless efforts to defend territory and go back to surveying the fish selection, forepaws now up on the icy display. Perhaps those reddish ones with the bulging eyes would please Master Chingon. Oh! Maybe these blue, tiger-striped ones with the foolishly stern expression. The towel slaps down again, striking me with the strength of a peaceful breeze. Hiss. A kitten’s paw could do more damage, frail old man.

Shimmering silver scales glistening with hues of blue steel and sunrise pink catch my eye. The ancient towel wielder, the rest of his kind, and all of their troublesome noise melt away until all that’s left is the most beautiful fish one could ever see. Its eyes, round and clear, are the image of health. Its smell, that of a fresh kill. There’s honor in its simplic allure, nobility even. This glorious fish does not need flashy markings or exotic shapes to stand above the rest. It must have been a king of its waters, a valiant warrior at the least. Yes, there can be no doubt. I’m not sure if it’s of the fatty variety, but who cares? Its size alone makes it a much more respectable catch than the measly cut of sea bass Azura provided. This is the one.

My jaw tightens, my muscles tense, primed to pounce. The hunched human discovers his last shred of honor. Forgoing the towel, he sends an open-palmed strike at the top of my head. A commendable effort, but he is far too feeble to cause any concern. With great ease, I duck the blow and tag the side of his wrist with a mild swipe of my claws—a warning. Beads of blood peek out of the minuscule wound. The coward howls like I stole his hand.

Never mind that last shred of honor. 

He twists, clutching his wrist, sucking and puffing wind, eyes wide on the wound. I hop up. Ice stings my paw pads with the most uncomfortable of chills. I quick-step over less favorable fish, and—

Whack!

The old man nearly sends me flying. Ice explodes from the table as I dig in a whisker from the edge. The man’s sour wrinkles have morphed yet again, sagging into a display of pure, desperate anger; the look of a wounded beast. Curses fly from his quivering lips. Other humans laugh or gasp as more rectangles point at me. Seems they have no pack honor either. My hunched rival swipes another slow strike at me. I jump it without worry. Before he can pin me with his other hand, I have the fish in my grasp. My teeth sink in just behind the gills. Sweet juices run onto my tongue, providing further incentive to escape with my prize.

“Damn cat! Drop it!” He foams, scooting around the table with the speed of a rock. I’m on the ground, darting between feet well before he gets within reach. Curses and cheers alike fade behind me as I rush, retracing my steps. Humans point, clamor for their rectangles, stop and stare, but not a one thinks it wise to halt my escape. Strange creatures indeed. Is their prey so trivial? Or perhaps their instincts are just this dull.

The fish is a burden, but one worth carrying. With the right angle, I manage to lift it high enough that only the tail drags on the ground as I leave the smells of the shopping street behind me. A hearty chuckle finds its way out around the fish. How great! I can’t wait to see the look on Azura’s face when she sees the size of our meal! Master Chingon will be so impressed by the skills of his new top pupil. I’m sure a fish this grand will encourage him to accelerate my training timeline. Perhaps now he’ll even teach me the secret to his power. Crows follow from above as I daydream about Zei Sho’s corpse, fried and smouldering under the wrath of my electric paw.

“Whoa ‘dere! Aye, you, hold up a sec.”

continue with FISHING TRIP (Part 2) + ILLUSTRATIONS - out now!

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