Wednesday Cat Hunt

Kylee Walton

RUNNER UP OF THE RIVER’S SPRING 2025 FLASH FICTION CONTEST

By Author

From what I have gathered, Wednesdays do not produce good art. More often than not on Wednesdays I am left sitting on my stool for hours. Not moving, not saying a word. The only time my pointless staring is interrupted is when my cat, Fyodor, comes into the studio to bother me. However, this hasn’t been the case lately as Fyodor has been missing for several days. I look at the calendar and realize that it’s the fifth day, which cements the notion that Fyodor will not
come back all on his own. Wednesday is now the day where I’ll have to go out to find Fyodor
myself.

***

The residential area where I live is the picture perfect playground for cats. There are alleys to hide in and careless neighbors who leave out food scraps out of pure forgetfulness. Surely, Fyodor has not gone far when this paradise sits right in front of him.
I walk down the sidewalk, peering into each alley I pass by. Each one has its own
abundance of old newspapers and empty food packages. Few of them house cats, none of which seem to be Fyodor. I stop walking and stare down a particular alleyway, one at the outskirts of the neighborhood.
My eyes take in all of the details in front of me. There is no cat in this alley, there is no garbage in this alley. The pavement that coats the ground appears to be fresh, as if just made. Everything is as clear as a freshly cleaned glass jar. As I look to the end of the alley, I notice that there is no end at all. The pavement simply just continues. I step into the alley.
“Fyodor?” I call out. “Are you here?”
I continue down the alley, making sure to call out Fyodor’s name every ten or so seconds. The two walls creating the alleyway, both made of gray brick, give off a sterile aroma of fresh paint, a scent that sets my nostrils on fire. I rub my nose with the back of my hand until I feel the skin grow raw. A strong gust of wind goes by, almost pushing me backwards. I shake off the chill from the wind and begin to feel constricted, as if the alley is shrinking around me, the walls closing in.
“Fyodor! Where are you?” There is no response to my shouts. I feel no sign of life in this alleyway other than my own. I stop walking and frown. Finding Fyodor feels hopeless for a moment.
Suddenly, something so small flies through the air from the end of the alley. It hits my cheek and the skin begins to burn slightly. I brush my cheek with my hand and feel a small clump of sand stuck to my face. I furrow my brows and rub away the sand. Another gust of wind blows, stronger than before and this time with more sand. I shut my eyes tight, but it’s all in vain as a few grains of sand get trapped in my eyes. I push my hands out, spreading my fingers, and assess the area in front of me. All I feel is sand, a mountain of sand falling and flying past me. It lies through the space between my fingers and hits my neck like tiny shards of glass. I start to walk again and try to push through the sand, lifting my legs slowly. Each step feels as though it weighs one hundred pounds.
I hear a piercing shrill in front of me, a cry created from pure torture. It sounds just like Fyodor when he’s hungry.
“Fyodor!” I yell as I try to pick up the pace of my walking. The shrill meowing
continues, the volume increasing with each step I take. “Fyodor! I’m here!”
I hear his meow again, this time loud enough to seem like he is meowing right into my ear. I sense another sign of life right in front of me. It must be Fyodor, so I bend down to grab him.
Just as I am feeling his fur against my palms, the wind and sand stops. The air feels clearer, so I open my eyes. I am back in the alley, at the very end of it facing a wall. Looking down at my hands, I see that I am holding nothing. No Fyodor, no cat at all.
I stand and turn around. The alley I am in looks just like all the other alleyways in the neighborhood, covered in grime and scraps. I feel a sense of remembrance, the world I am in is the real world. Fyodor is somewhere else, somewhere tucked away and hard to find, I realize.
I blink and rub my eyes. There is still sand in them.

---