Winter swiped a heavy hand against the sandpaper abrasion wetting her cheek.
A cat meowed
Her brows drew into a frown. Meow?
More sandpaper, then a nudge on her cheek from a wet, somewhat smelly head.
The sound of the ocean registered, and as she struggled to pry her eyes open, memories of the early morning events filtered through her brain.
She squinted up to the sky. The sun was at about ten a.m. Obviously, she hadn’t made the start of her shift, first day.
She could still smell rain in the air but the storm had passed and now the skies were blue. Only in San Francisco.
She turned her throbbing head and met the unblinking golden eyes of a calico cat. “Scat Cat?” she asked in confusion, realizing the second drug hadn’t targeted her vocal cords.
The undernourished, soaking wet cat purred, long and loud.
“You can’t be Scat Cat,” she murmured, reaching up and scratching the feline under its chin.
It couldn’t be the same cat. It was impossible the alley cat who had followed her to and from school since kindergarten, followed her back and forth from her part time job each and every day, then even to the bus stop the very day she had left town, was the same cat.
Scat Cat, because Winter had shouted the words to the cat, along with a hissing noise and a stomping foot, each and every day, worried the fool cat would get hit by a car by following her around everywhere.
Everywhere, that was, except her home. Oddly, when Winter was home, the stray cat never lingered.
She shook the cobwebs from her head and sat up. She had been wedged between two large boulders, completely hidden from the spread of beach where she and her captors had gathered earlier this morning.