Chapter Two
In a dusty alley of London, a large brown rat scurried to and fro. Unaware of the predator hovering above, ready to pounce from its preach atop a fallen dumpster.
Unnerving intelligent green eyes glowed with concentration, fixated on their prey. The pitter patter of small feet entering the predator’s alert ears.
The rat paused in its steps, sniffing the air. Nervous of the collection of humans outside the alley. Its hesitancy, the rat’s undoing.
Without warning, a small lithe black cat pounced trapping the rat by its tail. Contrary to the rat, the black cat did not hesitate. A shrieked squeak leaving it as pearly white teeth sunk into the skin of its neck.
It's struggle ceasing.
Still, the cat made no move to retract its fangs. Long had the cat learned it’s lesson, never again would it underestimate its prey. Especially, one as fearless and huge as the rats of London.
Sure enough moments after its struggle ceased, one last struggle ensured. The cat holding tight while doing its best to avoid dirty teeth and claws.
No sooner than it began it was over. The rat collapsing limply against the cement.
A proud glint entered the cat's eyes. Holding its large prey in its mouth, the metallic taste of blood entering its senses.
With a bounce in its step, the feline exited the dusty alley weaving through the crowd. Dodging feet, it skillfully ignored the occasionally screech of a startled woman or grunted disgust from some polished man.
Before long the cat had wandered five blocks, entering an alley littered with trash. Dragging the rat, which was nearly as big as its own body, into a hidden dark alcove between buildings.
Small mews echoed from the small space, little furry heads popping up excitedly from behind, beneath, or atop piles of trash.
The black cat raised its head high as it showed off its quarry, feeling exceptionally pleased with itself.
The litter of four kittens, an honestly small number, gathering around him mewing their praises.
The black cat had come just in time as the litter was beginning to starve.
Licking its chops, the cat set about taring the rat apart into edible pieces for the old litter of kittens. Ears twitching, it took in the sounds of someone approaching.
Pausing in its “cooking,” the cat turned eerie green eyes catching a pair of beautiful soft brown. The mother cat.
A gorgeous if unfortunately dirty brown tabby cat. She was the dominant cat of the clowder, although the black cat could change that with a little effort.
The black cat wasted little time rolling onto its side before the mother cat, revealing its belly in submission.
Falling in rank, behind the mother, was for a sentimentality which was unlike anything cats processed.
The black cat, felt it owed the mother cat. She was the one that had taken in the little orphaned kitten that was itself two years ago, and taught it everything it needed to know to live as a cat on the streets of London.
For that, the cat would forever be grateful. Because now, the black cat one, Harry James Potter, was finally living his dream.