Nine Lives

It's getting late.

This is a fact. Midnight has come and the cat of the same name has realized it. Not with a clock, not with a sundial, but with her own instinct. Instinct that tells her it's time to return to her cardboard box home and sleep until night comes once more. She's learnt the hard way that foraging in the day is a trip to disaster, whether some obnoxious school boys throw stones at you or a dog decides to become more than vocal in defending his territory. Midnight's her name and midnight's her-…

"Gone. They're all gone."

…game?

For once, Midnight chooses to linger, braving the dangers of a park with everything from hooligans to graffiti, half of which says "Bad Wolf." Her ears pricked, she quickly finds the source of the sound-sound that she's not just heard, but understood. A man is stumbling through the dark, heading for the nearest bench. And while caution tells Midnight to head home, curiosity compels her to stay.

Hopefully it won't kill me.

Scratching an ear in a position that the big hairless cats around her would find impossible, Midnight reflects on her life-her ninth life, given the number of close shaves she's had with dogs, hooligans and when she lived with her owners in Cardiff, some…well, whatever it was. All in all, there isn't much to reflect on. So even if approaching the man may mean game over, she decides to take the chance.

"I'm alone…" the man whispers, having reached his bench of choosing. A bench that Midnight starts cautiously approaching.

A big hairless cat I can understand? This is a night of mystery…or something.

All in all, the man doesn't look dangerous. And although he's wearing some strange costume, like something out of a New Year's Eve party (Midnight would know-that tends to be one of the most dangerous nights of the year), he doesn't strike her as mad either. Little hair, big ears, a…hard face marred with tears…He reminds Midnight of when one of her owners became depressed. But this is different. The man before her isn't depressed. What she's seeing is genuine sorrow. And that's about as rare as seeing someone on a bench at this time of night who doesn't reek of alcohol. And since the man before her doesn't (well, he does smell of something, but Midnight can't put her paw on it), she comes within a few feet of him.

"Meow," the cat says. "Meow…"

If the man hears her, he gives no sign. Then again, it isn't surprising-she's used to big hairless cats ignoring her and while she can somehow understand his words, there's no guarantee that he can understand hers.

I should go…Midnight's survival instinct tells her. You're not going to get anything out of this…

The cat's curiosity agrees with that assessment. There's nothing to be gained by staying here. But that doesn't mean there's no reason to. And if she has to take a more direct method of getting this man's attention, then so be it.

No! the survival instinct cries. Don't do it!

It's too late. Midnight's jumped on his lap.

"Meow," the cat repeats, looking up at the hard eyes of the big hairless cat she's landed on. "Meow…"

It takes awhile for the man to notice her. It takes even longer for him to react. Still, with a sad smile on his face, Midnight is safe in the knowledge that he isn't going to pull her tail at least.

"Oh…hello…" the wanderer says, rubbing Midnight behind the ear. "You on your own as well?"

To her surprise, Midnight finds herself purring. For the first time in her last eight lives, she's actually being fussed, actually being given a display of affection. And while she came here to find out about the man here, curiosity gives way to old instinct. An instinct to settle on the man's lap and let the attention continue.

This…this is nice…Midnight thinks to herself. He's a nice big hairless cat…

"You look like you've seen a few wars…" her benefactor muses, clearing out some dirt from the cat's fur. "I would know…"

Slowly, Midnight looks up. The big hairless cat isn't lying about that and as much as she enjoys this attention, curiosity has taken over.

"Nine lives…" the man muses. "That's how many lives a cat is said to have, right?"

"Meow," Midnight answers.

The man chuckles sadly. "Guess we're more alike than I thought. I'm on my ninth life too you see…can't say I see a reason to use it up to the tenth."

"Meow?"

To Midnight's question of "what?", the man doesn't answer. Then again, he doesn't have to. Deep down, in a section of her heart that hasn't been hardened (come to think of it, is that two heartbeats she's feeling on his chest?), the cat knows he's telling the truth. He is on his ninth life and is wondering whether it's even worth living. Putting her paws on his chest and looking up at the big hairless cat, Midnight implores him to reconsider.

The man sighs. "I should go. There'll be living plastic running around soon if I don't get my act together."

That, Midnight believes. What she doesn't is that the man is capable of doing it. Not in this state at least, what with his sorrow and these ridiculous clothes he's wearing. So she does the two things that she hopes will rectify the situation.

The first is to lick the man's face, getting rid of the dust on it. Midnight can sense there was blood there too, but somehow it's disappeared. As if his skin regenerated. Either way, the man seems to appreciate it. What he doesn't appreciate however is Midnight promptly urinating on his clothes.

"Nice…" says the big hairless cat, looking down at his costume in mock disgust. "Very nice."

Jumping down on the concrete, Midnight looks up in a look she calls "yes I did something naughty but I'm too cute for you to punish me." She doesn't doubt that this big hairless cat will save all the other big hairless cats from living plastic or whatever he's on about. Still, if he's going to do so, the least he could do is put on some decent looking clothes.

"Well?" the man asks. "Got anything to say for yourself?"

"Meow."

And with that, Midnight heads back into the night. A night of her ninth life that's been unlike any other.

Because maybe, just maybe, she's made a difference.

Maybe she's been able to convince the man that even a ninth life is worth living.

A/N

While I'm admittedly on my first and only life, somehow this was 'inspired' by my cat jumping on my lap for the...well, suffice to say, he does it often and half of the time it's when I'm working and/or studying. Somehow he ended up giving me an idea rather than distracting me.