I sat there in a daze, the cat said, not knowing what I should do. Cars drove by, a few slowing down so that people could gawk, but no one pulled into the lot or took any notice of me. Being small and gray, said the cat, I’m easy to miss.

Then I saw two bicycles approaching. The riders I knew. Bad kids, double trouble, who often played hooky from school, and who on more than one occasion, when it was just the old man in the store, stole candy bars or chips and mocked his helpless rage before riding away.

How I let them catch me is a shameful story, said the cat. Remember, though, how hungry I was and maybe then you’ll understand what I felt when one of them pulled out and pushed toward me a balled-up foil wrapper that, even from a distance, smelled divinely of flesh. In my weakened state, it was a cinch for him to seize me by the scruff. The other took hold of my tail, and after swinging me about, all the while whooping and cackling like fiends, they carried me to the dumpster in back of the store. Once they’d tossed me in and rolled the cover shut they kicked and banged away at the sides until at last they got bored and took off.

There I sat at the bottom of that dark cold damp bin, which was empty but slimy with filth, said the cat. I could not stop shaking. What next? Would the brutes return to finish me off? And if they didn’t return, how would I ever get out of there? I began to cry, making my voice as big as possible, said the cat, and very big indeed it sounded to me in that void, but no one heard, no one came, and soon I had no voice left to cry anymore. Still I kept opening and closing my mouth in silent meow, as we cats do when in despair.

I must have slept on and off, said the cat, but the cold and the pangs of hunger and thirst kept me mostly awake. Awake, but not alert. My mind was hardly under my control anymore, I felt myself slipping away, into an ever-deeper dark and cold—then I heard a voice.

Holy shit, a rat.

Looking up, I saw blue sky and a large head silhouetted against it. A second head appeared, and there came a different voice: That ain’t no rat, dummy, it’s a cat.

Oh wow, said the first head. Let’s get it out of there.

Nah, said the other. Looks sick to me. Might have rabies. Let’s call the ASPCA, let them handle it.