Written for the QLFC Round 4 Chaser 1 - Write from a pet's perspective about mistreatment or abandonment (of pets or people).

Optional prompts: 3. (Song) How Bad Can I Be from The Lorax; 8. (Action) running; 14. (Restriction) no names

"Survivors aren't always the strongest; sometimes they're the smartest, but more often simply the luckiest."

― Carrie Ryan, The Dark and Hollow Places

I've always been a survivor. Not really from anything I've done, as far as I can tell. But what would have killed other cats has somehow only made me stronger.

I didn't know what it was like to have a home until I was almost a year old. As a tiny kitten I roamed the streets, fighting the other strays for my next meal. I dodged cars, violent dogs, even more violent humans, and food poisoning. There were many times I was convinced I wouldn't see the sunrise, but I always made it through.

And then she came along. She was young, sweet and pretty, with bright hair, gentle hands and a soft voice. She took me in, healed my wounds and made sure I never wanted for anything again. She combed me, cuddled me and loved me in a way that I didn't know was possible. And when we had to move to a big house with lots of other people, her friends treated me the same way. Even the funny boy who smelt like a dog - I'd never met a human who smelt like a dog before - gave me plenty of love and attention. The only person who didn't seem to like me was that one boy, but I didn't like him very much either - he smelt like a rat, and every good cat knows rats aren't friends. My girl was still my favourite though. She let me sleep on her bed, and when the weather turned cold, we'd sit in front of the fire together, keeping each other warm.

I was there with her when she found out her parents had been killed - and that her sister never wanted to see her again. I dried her tears with my tail and made her laugh with my purr. I never could get that quite right. But anyway, she had always been there for me, so I vowed to always be there for her too. No matter what happened, I would never abandon her, and would eternally make sure she got what she needed.

It was a year later that it happened. We had moved rooms and were sharing a fire room with one of her friends; the boy with the funny things on his face who smelt like some kind of forest animal. I liked him, he gave me lots of pats and didn't seem to mind that I couldn't purr properly. But all of a sudden neither him nor my girl were paying me as much attention. In fact, they seemed to be giving each other all of their attention. I got pretty upset about that. I gave her all my love and affection, and she had turned her back on me! But a few nights of yowling and a couple of strategically placed furballs did the trick. We've never had a problem with attention since.

Time seemed to move pretty quickly after that. We moved out of the big house into a little flat with one of our friends, and then my girl got dressed up all in white (she was gorgeous, but I think she's prettiest in her baggy jumpers and knobbly scarves), and we moved into a little house with her boy. I guess he had become my boy too at some point.

We had so much fun in that house. My girl and I had many fights over some kind of decoration on a shelf - I thought it was ugly and silly, but she seemed to dislike me trying to knock it over. I'd pretend to give in for a few weeks, and then just when she started to relax about it, I'd jump back up on the shelf. It was pretty funny to watch her run over to me to save the silly thing. As if I'd really do something she wouldn't like!

We also had our friends over a lot, and the house was full of laughter and joy. My girl and boy always seemed tired and worried when they came home from wherever they went during the day, but I still managed to cheer them up.

And then one day my little boy came home, and I had a whole new purpose in life. He was so tiny, almost as small as I had been as a kitten. And I was determined that he would have a better start in life than I did. I stopped sleeping with my girl and instead stood guard at my kitten's door. At the slightest sound of distress, I was off to my boy and girl, mewing and walking all over them until they got up to look after my kitten. He was also great fun to play with during the day - although I didn't like it when he pulled on my tail.

In the end, it was my kitten who broke the ugly thing. And I know my girl thought it scared me, but you can't scare me that easily. I just didn't want to get the blame for it, so I ran away! I was doing a lot of running in that time, as my kitten learnt to walk and decided that chase was a fun game to play.

Through it all, my love for my little family only grew, and I knew I would do anything to keep them safe. And I thought they would do the same for me. Except that they're gone. All of them. My girl, my boy, and even my little kitten. All I did was go out for a walk, and I come back to a completely empty house. An empty, destroyed house. I know I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't that bad was I? That they would run away like that? That they would have to make sure I could never live in that house again?

I don't know what is going on here, and I don't want to believe that my family would just abandon me like that. Surely there must have been something more significant going on here. There were certainly a lot of people around who weren't before. But whatever it was, one thing is for sure; I've survived as a street cat, and I will survive again. And one day I would find my family and make them love me again.

And after years and years of eating stringy rats and defending myself from impolite mutts, I found myself once more being taken in and cared for. At first it was just some kind of place for lots of animals, which I didn't like very much but it was better than the streets. But then a girl came along. She wasn't my girl, but she was nice, and had lots of hair I could play with. And she had a friend who looked and smelt just like my kitten. Maybe I had found my family again after all.