My master enjoyed long walks. He’d walk as a headless chicken let loose by fumbling fools, quick, staggered, in pain but silent. I’d join him in his daily venture with a harness tied to my neck, a fabric of polyester, that kept me tethered to his waddling spirit. We kept a steady pace and would only stop when I’d spot something rigid and broken, he was not too pleased whenever I did. I used the past tense because he was now rigid and broken.

He met his demise, in the comfort of his home without another bipedal in sight. His eyes rolled away from the TV then fixed themselves on the back of his head, his lids remained halfway open but his mouth was sealed tight.

“Don’t go” were the only words I could think to whimper. I found myself standing next to him, unable to make a move. His body slouched to the side, like a garbage bag propped against the wall. I could only watch as gravity made slight readjustments to his posture.

“How will I survive on my own?”

“You must”

I heard the response coming from the kitchen, and the voice sounded as cold as gravel. It was the neighborhood street cat. He sauntered over to the window frame just outside the kitchen sink and let out a low, grumbling purr as his sides brushed against the withered bricks.

“You must young Perro, stay alive for your master”

“What do you know”

“Of having a master nothing. Of surviving? I know it all.”

With eyes that glistened as if they were a part of the stars, he looked through the kitchen glass window. His grey fur made him practically invisible in the dark esthetic. And that smirk on his face makes him all the more menacing.

“So will you”

“I will find another master” I barked back, waiting for his response

“ You might, but you have to escape this house first”

“The doors are locked and windows are all sealed,” he said, tapping the glass with his paw

I was too grief-stricken to notice the locked exits. My master always locked up before bed, often after his supper in case he fell asleep on the couch watching TV.

“What will I do?” I practically begged the cat for answers “What food will I eat”

“You will eat what is presented to you, like him” His head nodded in my master's direction, and my stomach churned at his words. How could he be so cynical?

“Not now young perro, but sooner or later, you'll be fighting with the rats”

( I will try to release more installments, tell me what you think and what I can improve upon)