Lisa Fargazer roused from her sleep when a few urchins entered the hideout above the Imperial Theater, talking loudly about the mischief they’d just perpetrated. When they saw Lisa awake, they were more than happy to tell her all about it. She made the appropriate approving and admiring exclamations throughout their recital, until the other crawled into bunks to sleep the sleep of the happily inebriated.
Lisa, though, lay awake a while. Part of her was sorry she’d missed out on the fun. Any cat enjoyed the opportunity for making mischief, and she was no exception, though she’d had precious little opportunity for it since her change. She still didn’t really yet understand the human concepts of fun.
She could also understand other reasons for what they’d done. Winter was a hard time for the urchins–she’d seen and experienced that well enough last year. Lisa, at least, had the advantage of her feline instincts, the instincts that any feral cat had when temperatures fell and prey became more scarce: sleep as much as possible to preserve energy. That had worked reasonably well for her last winter, and she was ready to implement it again this winter. But humans, especially young ones, seemed incapable of keeping still for so long. If this raid had brought them some of the goods they needed to survive, so much the better.
On the other hand, though, she thought, it was perhaps best she hadn’t been there. She knew she was approaching an age that most humans would consider adult, or nearly so. It really wouldn’t be that long before she’d have to move out of the world of the urchins, and enter the world of the adults. It would be better, really, to be on good–or, at least, neutral–terms with them. Except for Canergak, of course. And anyone else who would dare try to harm her friends.
She fell asleep again to those reflections, and the snores of the urchins around her.