Hello, this is the first installment of TheTrainCats. This is the Prologue, interlude into the story, not Chapter One. And, this is not a FanFiction. This is a Fictional novel, yes, but has nothing to do with any existing series of novels. I am the Author, and I claim all material. You may branch off the TrainCats, but always give rightful credit to me. Please check out the Roleplay Game website dedicated to this series of novels in writing for more information, or merely to join, get to know the author, or follow the books.
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This website is hosted off entirely Freewebs, and the pictures do not belong to me.
A torrential downpour pelting the ground in a slanted, sideways motion from a strong wind, a layer of thick, coal-black clouds stretching to the farthest reaches of the sky, the air tainted with the brief scent of smoke from an explosion of lightning towards the trees, pine needles burning. The smoke was everywhere, being blown with the same wind. Thunder bellowed from the sky with the intensity to cause eardrums to burst, then all was still, the wind subsided to a gentle breeze, the clouds still with only a thin, vertical drizzle.
The cars, they continued to travel in faint disarray, along the two-lane stretch between Snoqualmie, and North Bend, Washington. The tires hummed as they moved, carrying the car as the clutch and gas pedal allowed, drowsy drivers at the wheel. The headlights glared through the night, causing it to split into an area where the headlights, on bright shown.
There she stood, inside the golden blades of tall, slick grass coated with raindrops in a fine layer, puddles of mud underneath them, causing splashing and staining of the feline's underbelly, legs, paws, chest, throat, chin, and tail. Her eyes glowed in the shadows spread by the layers of dark clouds, a gorgeous, crystalline sky blue, with soft, slit, jet black pupils resting in the centers, casting an eerie light. The eyes, they reflected the storm clouds, the road, the thrumming vehicles whipping winds at her as they drove, clumsily knocking without rest at her fragile frame. Her tail, was raised in immense alarm behind her, spine carefully sloped, her ears pulled back against the back of her skull in an attempt to plaster them there, and rid herself of the annoying raindrops on her face. Her whiskers held the drops away from her muzzle, away from her mud-dried wild berry colored nose. They were thin, thicker at the very tips and long, a wide amount of them along her chocolate colored muzzle. She was shivering, goose-bumps spread underneath her coat of fur from the icy chill of the rain, mixed with the wind and fierce sudden breezes. The smell of smoke made her nostrils flare in resentment, yet inhaling the fumes, her eyes widening further to dream, more rather.
A noisy truck startled her and caused her to halt, to cower, the fur along her spine from the back of her skull prickling with anxiety, she carefully swiveled her cranium about, but then became lost in the awe of a close-by reminder.
There she was again, at her familiar windowsill. Her lips curled into a smile, the taste of tuna fish on her tongue, and small particles still stuck in-between her fangs. She was purring tenderly, her face showing complete, outright cheer as their palms slid over her body, and scratched to the places she couldn't reach with their dull fingernails. She was loved. She wasn't alone. She was warm. She was sheltered. She was full. She was happy.
She grimaced at the change, how now she was merely sorrowful and alone. Unloved. Alone. Freezing Cold. Out in the open air of the night. Starving. Miserable.
But then the illusion came back, her eyelids fluttering barely above her cheekbones. It was the day before the truck came. A large truck, larger than "Dad's" rusty old pickup that he drove to his lumbering company daily to chop wood. They were bustling around the household hastily, and took everything. All of the beds, the dressers, their clothes, the towels, the washcloths, the oven mitt….everything, but the window-seat in the Master Bedroom she loved to lay upon, a litter-box and scooper, and a half-full set of ceramic cat bowls, one filled with her kibble, the other filled with fresh water from the tap in the kitchen. She survived for a week and a half, after they left that same day, the day the moving van came. She was alone, starving and afraid when she escaped with struggle through a bathroom window left slightly ajar, several hour's worth of time wasted. She survived in the mountains for only a little while, off of shrews, mice, and small birds that survived in the mountain suburb. She then found her way slowly creeping down the hill, towards the Riverbend housing development rather than the Wilderness Rim development at the top of the hill.
It took several months to reach Snoqualmie from North Bend, since she was slow, trying to find the best possible shelter and beg for a home from weary travelers taking a stretch at various places, their cars pulled off to the shoulder of the road, or resting in a Parking Lot.
But now, here she stood, by the trains, shivering, her fur sopping wet and icy to the touch, her face discontorted in the freezing weather. She looked up towards the sky, the clouds were not clearing. A noisy Semi hummed past and caused her to become disdainfully frightened, she leaped at some slippery connectors of the train cars, the slippery grass treacherous. She flailed her elbows and knees, keeping her neck inclined to stare at her paws. Finally she was on the slick connector, her eyes wide, neck swiveling looking for entrance into one of the train cars. She found her hope for shelter, warmth, away from the storm on the rails, the train car above her, to her left. She found the peace rising at the ladder, the ladder lead to the right train car but would serve useful if she bounded over the pegs, then leaped to the reassurance inside of a makeshift den in the left train car. She carefully raised her shoulders and hips, and swung them back and forth, making sure not slip on the drizzle on the pegs and fall to several broken bones. She continues to look upwards with confidence, and found herself on the top of the ladder, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, feeling her pulse rushing through her at her wrists, her neck, and her belly had flipped upside down inside of the struggle up the pegs to safety and getting away from the raindrops blurring her vision. For a moment, she merely listened to the cars in passing on the road beside the stretch of railroad tie, the distant thunder, the sound of raindrops pelting mud puddles and slowly rusting the train cars. She shook her head, and made a desperate flail of leap into her shelter, and fell in, her elbows in midair, stretched, teeth gritted. She thumped the splintered old wood and look about, nostrils flaring. The den was dim, but distant car lights from behind the trains, in the parking lot, the illumination of lightning in the clouds, and the light of the stars and moon shining dim adjusted her eyes to the den with hope of seeing blankets, or towels. There was amiss nuts and bolts, and nails slightly into the planks stacked against each other, and blatantly sticking out of the floor and the walls surrounding her shivering, wet body. She found a greasy washcloth, one of the only fabrics the makeshift den had to offer, so she curled up tight in it, grease slicking itself onto her wet strands of fur, sticking together into feather-like clumps. She closed her eyes for a brief second, then examined the den she had made for herself. There was tin buckets of old paint and old paintbrushes, overused. There was crumpled, discarded soda pop containers, and old plastic pans for pouring paint. There was wrappers from McDonalds, and old straws and straw wrappers. There was also broken light bulbs, lying aimlessly on the planks of wood, and wood stacked in the corner with rope, and various toolboxes. Her eyelids slowly pulled themselves to her cheekbones, and she was left to receive her rest for the night amongst scattered, forgotten product for repair and renovation.
This was a start. A fresh start to Sheila, whether the AppleHead Siamese, a former PetCat of human beings in North Bend knew it or not. She was naive at this point, unknowing, that other felines had traveled along the railroad ties even before her and had the same thought run across their mind. That these, these man-made train cars, left to rust and rot through sunshine and drizzle, the storm that Sheila had traveled through, and even snow for many more years. She now, as she lay there, was just trying to clear her mind of how freezing she felt. How her skin was crawling with a pack of fleas, how the ticks embedded in her skin were irratating and slowly drawing out the blood and energy from her body. This cat, had no clue, for she was preoccupied in trying to block out the storm, her neglect, her abandonment inside of a mountain community, where cougars, bears and coyotes roamed freely without hestitation to threaten her safety, her life, or her well-being, since, until the fateful day the moving van pulled into her driveway and she became feral, she had been an indoor cat with little, actually, none outdoor suvival experience.
Now this cat lay, unknowing of what else is to follow in the next several chapters of the story. She just expects, that when her eyelids flutter open a cloud spread of drizzle shall greet her, and she shall leap again into the raindrops, her pelt sodden with wetness overall, and continue to walk into the shadows and watch the cars pass, unknowing of what next. Unknowing if she will catch a morsel of prey, unknowing if she should turn back and face DownTown Snoqualmie, rummage through the alleyways for delicous scavenging treats. Unknowing if she will ever get an owner that loves her like they did, before they left her behind without a hug or kiss goodbye. Unknowing that she may die of the cold that winter, or an illness from the cold, thriving in the below freezing temperatures.
Unknowing that she is about to become, a TrainCat.