Word Count: 666 words.
Notes: The title and a couple of the lines in this come slightly modified from Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott.
Summary: Ivanhoe (the cat) meets Sam (the adult.)
I padded down the street, the summer sun’s glow tickling the hairs on my back, reminding me of kinder times, when I would jump up for a tidbit of ham whenever pride deserted me. From this time, I had grown, but the memories remained, fondly nestling against those where I recalled my first engagement with the opposite sex, and long nights curled at the foot of the bed.
A mouse darted ahead of me, and I contemplated chasing it down in a flurry of orange - teeth and claws making short work of he so audacious as to tempt fate. I reconsidered. Mice are but the toys which amuse our lighter hours --- ambition is the serious business of life. I was after much larger prey than a mere field mouse on this day, and I would not be distracted from my main goal.
I was creating the ideal strategy for capture when a man came upon the scene. He was not the largest of men I had seen. Slim, and not old. Not young, either. He wore those clothes humans wear, and exuded confidence in doing so. It would be much easier for them if these humans realised it was more liberating to grow your coat long, but they would never learn. The man gazed at me and stopped.
He knew my name. How odd. At this point, other people would be stooping down to brush their pink meat fingers through my hair, but I did not allow him to take such an action. I pawed away. He was familiar to me, and I knew not why.
“Ivanhoe! It's me, Sammy.”
Sammy. Like my boy. My little boy with the tendency to try to catch me and put me in boxes, exclaiming that ‘the robber was caught’. Oh, such a joyful game for him, spending hours telling me all I had done wrong and how he would punish me, only to let me out on a whim and feed me cream from small silver encasings. If this Sammy was such as that Sammy, I certainly wasn’t staying to find out. I turned on my tail and stepped inside home, away from his persuasion.
I wandered into the kitchen. Perhaps I would eat something after all. A little meat never spoiled a meal. I contemplated the stranger. He was not a stranger. He claimed he knew me, and I could feel that I knew him in every sense. My whiskers twitched with the promise of an ally. Sammy. Could he have been the same as my boy? Humans would claim such things impossible, but I know as well as any other that impossibility does not exist.
Ruth spoke. I heard her voice echoing throughout the house. She had taken to this man as well. There was warmth in her tone, and no hint of danger. Perhaps a small measure of confusion. At this moment, I could not say why. I decided upon a course of investigation.
“He's a salesman. And a not very good one at the moment, so, um, if anyone does try and burgle us, they'll be very disappointed.”
I wandered over to the man and he did as I expected earlier, pushed those odd fingers humans have, over the top of my head and my neck. It was a soothing sensation, not nearly as annoying as it can be, and the touch told me everything I needed to know.
He was my Sammy. He was my Sammy and he was unhappy. I sensed his confusion, pain and disconnection. The prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man was kept constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation. I would be of no use. He had the power within him to escape from that which tormented him, but he did not yet know the method. He would find one, I could tell.
The mystery solved, I resumed my quest. I am not one to dwell, and, I imagine, neither is he.