The wind ruffled Peyton’s fur. He wrinkled his nose at the air, sniff-snorting the tell-tale scent of dinner wafting up the hill. The breeze vibrated his whiskers and he sneezed, rubbing his cheek on his forearm. 

He stood and arched his back. A little twist right to left eased the knots in his shoulder and hips. He stretched his feet behind him and his tail gave a little shake. Time to get off the hill and report his findings. 

There was no rush. The others would have already ravaged the food offering, but some food would remain. Just enough for him. Maybe he could get a special morsel, if he pushed someone else out of the way. But it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need the fancy food. He just needed food. There was plenty of that. 

By the time he moseyed into the kitchens, most everyone else was beginning their satisfied slumber. Some were slumped off to the side of the space. Others had scurried off into their hidey-holes. He could eat with leisure. Just the way he liked it. 

“Sir,” came a peep from behind. “Sir?”

Peyton turned slowly, water dripping from his chin. He loathed being interrupted at the water station.

The kitten crouched, expecting to be swatted. 

“What?” grumbled Peyton, spraying the kitten with water and spittle.

“There’s a problem, sir,” the kitten whispered. “A disturbance.”

“So deal with it.” Peyton turned back to his water dish.

“The others are afraid,” the kitten said. “None will go near.”

Peyton slumped his shoulders. Of course they’re afraid. Always afraid.

“Where?” he mumbled between slurps.

“The Wildlands,” said the kitten.

“And why do we care about a disturbance in the Wildlands?”

“Because it’s meowing.”

Peyton sat down. “A meow. In the Wildlands?”

“A tiny meow,” the kitten said. “And the wolves are howling.”

Always the wolves. “Are all accounted for?”

“Yes,” said the kitten. 

“Yes Sir,” grumbled Peyton.

“Sir. Yes sir,” the kitten stammered.

Peyton approached the guard shelter. Stan peered at him and scoffed. 

Stan didn’t think much of Peyton. It annoyed Peyton. He was way beyond needing to prove himself to this younger cats, no matter how experienced they were. Stanley was good, and deserved his rank, but could do with a little less sneering. 

“Greetings, Sir,” Stan dripped, eying Peyton’s furless upper lip. “What brings you here today?”

“The kit says there’s trouble.” Peyton looked past Stan through the gate and toward the Wildlands. “What trouble is there?”

“The wolves are loud this evening,” said Stan. 

As if on cue, barks and yowls cascaded over the hills and into the gates. The wolves were excited all right.

“Just the howls, or is there more?”

Stan shrugged. “Some say there’s hissing and mewling from afar.”

“What do you say?”

“I say there’s nothing we can do, so it doesn’t matter.”

“The kitten is upset,” said Payton.

“The kitten will get over it,” retorted Stan. “I’m not going to go out there tonight.”

The wolves quieted. A tiny mew fell into Peyton’s ear. “I hear it,” he whispered.

“Go on then, old man. Save the cat.” Stan snorted and turned away. 

Peyton stood, nose in the air, searching for a scent. He knew some things that none of the others knew. He was not afraid.

The breeze across his whiskers always bothered him, especially since his fur had started falling out. The others mocked him for his furless lip and stunted whiskers, but he regarded them as advantageous. His skin was so sensitive that he could detect the tiniest wind current. This was good, because he could use this to tell where any scents were coming from. He was smelling wolves.

And something else.

The wolves were quiet at the moment, and the air was almost still. It would be difficult to track the source of the commotion, but for the tiniest whiffs of scent and… Was that a chest rumble?

The smell of wolf was thick in the air but there was another smell. This one was clearly feline. Payton paused to sniff the air. He turned and shifted trying to get any sense of direction for the other scent. 

What he didn’t want to do was startle the wolves. They could get aggressive if they were surprised. And surprised wolves can bite. 

But there were ways to keep the wolves from snapping. One was to sneak by before they even noticed. That was risky. A better way was to wait until they were calmed down and just stroll through. 

It turns out, as Peyton had learned in his younger years, that wolves are afraid of cats. At least they could be if you taught them to be afraid. And that was something Peyton had taught them years ago. One quick swipe with open claws across the snout will keep the wolves away for the rest of their lives. 

Just be big. Poof up the fur. Stand tall. The wolves will move aside.

As long as you didn’t startle them first.

Peyton was squatting behind a bush, watching the wolves and listening for the mewling of the unseen ‘other.’ Peyton had been in this position for an hour. His legs were starting to cramp. But he kept listening. The wolves were sleeping. Two of them, curled in little circles, occasionally smacked their lips, but were otherwise quiet. 

Though he was old, Peyton knew that the silence he heard was not from age and deafness. He was missing fur, but his hearing was as sharp as ever. No, the reason why he heard nothing was because there was nothing to hear. But he knew he’d heard the faint terrified mewling of someone before he left the encampment. He just had to wait.

He hadn’t gotten as old as he was for being impatient.

His ear twitched. There was a shuffling. It stopped. Peyton tilted his head, straining to hear. It started again. The padding of paws. He straightened and leaned toward the sound.

One of the wolves sleep-barked. 

Something lunged out of the darkness and collided with Peyton, bowling him over backwards. They tumbled briefly, then froze.

The wolves jumped up, snuffling energetically for a moment, then grew bored. And sleepy. When the wolves laid down again, Peyton turned his attention to the furry lump beside him.

He sniffed and nodded. It was another cat, just as he’d expected. Another sniff. But older than he’d thought. The other cat was rumbling in fear. Peyton purred back.

“They don’t care,” he whispered. “They’ve already forgotten about you.”

Golden eyes turned to him. “You sure?” came the hissed reply.

Peyton nodded. It was a female cat. Maybe as old as he was. A little ruffled. A little bony.

“We can sneak away,” Peyton said, bending his body to slip his feet back under himself. 

“Don’t like wolves,” she snapped.

“No one does,” Peyton replied.

“Some do,” she growled. “I don’t.”

“I don’t like them,” Peyton sighed. “But I’m not afraid of them. They’re stupid. That’s why cats are better.”

She looked around. Her eyes were wide and her whiskers tucked back against her cheeks. She shook her head. “Don’t like wolves.”

“Come with me,” Peyton purred. “I know a safe place.”

They skulked away, the new cat muttering the whole time. “I hate wolves. Hate wolves.”

They had been keeping to the shadows, though this lady was a shadow herself. Her coat was short and very black. Her thinness made fur project at strange angles, but Peyton could see that with some good meals, she’d plump up and her fur would lay flat and glossy across her body. 

She said little, merely muttering along behind Peyton. He’d pause from time to time, peeking back at her when she would hesitate. 

“How do you come to this place?” Peyton said.

“Wolves,” she muttered.

“Come again?” Peyton tilted his head.

She stopped and glowered at him. “I don’t like pushy cats, either.”

Peyton shrugged and turned back toward the path. “Just curious.”

They continued over a small rise and then sneaked along the edge of a meadow, keeping just inside the trees. If the wolves woke, they could hide easily. 

The new cat froze often. Every new sound was cause for panic. Peyton wondered what her story was. Surely she came from somewhere. But how could a cat be so terrified of everything?

They finally rounded a corner and the compound gate came into view. Stanley was basking in the sun just outside the gate. Of course he is, thought Peyton. These younger cats were always tempting fate. The wolves were dumb, but not stupid.

“Get up, you oaf,” Peyton yowled. Stan kicked his feet and sat up. Casually, he licked his paw. 

“Not an oaf,” Stan mumbled. “I know exactly what’s happening around here.”

“Really?” Peyton raised an eyebrow. 

Stan nodded. “Yeah, like who’s that?” He poked his nose in the direction of the black cat. She was standing with her tail straight behind her, growling softly.

Peyton fluffed up. “She won’t tell me.” He chuckled. “But she hates wolves and pushy cats.”

“Luckily, I’m not pushy,” said Stan, who proceeded to prance right toward her. “My lady. Would you like to come inside?”

“Back off,” she hissed. Stan kept pressing forward. “I said BACK OFF,” she roared and swiped at Stan’s face with sharp, silvery claws. Stan leaped back.

Peyton sat down and laughed. “You’re not that special,” he muttered. “Please, my lady,” Peyton addressed the black cat. Let us come inside.

“I don’t like this,” she grumbled.

Stan shrugged. “Or you can hang out with the wolves.”

She abruptly darted past Stanley with a hiss. She hesitated as she approached Peyton, giving him a wide berth as she trotted through the gate.

“I knew it was another cat!” The kitten ran forward to meet the black coated guest. She turned on him, arched her back, and hissed. The kitten froze.

“Stay AWAY,” she cried.

“I just wanna meet you,” said the kitten. “We can be friends.”

“I don’t like friends,” she said, backing away.

Peyton sidled up to her. “But I’ll bet you do like dinner.”

She lurched away from him in disgust. Then her expression softened. “I am hungry.”

Peyton nodded. “We share here. There’s always enough. The Kitten is kind of a glutton, but he can’t eat all of it.”

“I’m not a kitten,” the kitten said. “I’m an adult!”

Stan snorted. Peyton grinned. “Not with that squeaky voice,” they said in unison.

Possum sat and pouted. “My voice isn’t squeaky.”

The new cat huffed. 

“In fairness,” said Peyton, “It was the Kitten - er - Possum who heard you, lady.”

She blinked.

“What’s your name?” Possum peeped.

She eyed him with a bit of a lip curl, then scanned the faces of all the cats that had gathered. 25 cats in all, staring at her eagerly. Some whispering to each other. Others casually grooming themselves.

She rolled her eyes. “My name is Annie.”

“That’s pretty,” said Possum.

“Welcome, Annie,” said Peyton. 

Murmurs of greeting wafted through the crowd, and the others slowly dispersed. 

Annie turned to Peyton, frowning. She said nothing. Peyton nodded. “You don’t like pushy cats.”

“I don’t like pushy cats,” echoed Annie. She sighed. “But I would like to sleep.”

Peyton smiled. “I know just the place. Welcome to the family, Annie.”