“Mew?” I ask again.

  She finally understands the question. “I’m still hungry. I’m looking for something to eat.” She mimes taking something in her hand and placing it into her mouth. As if I couldn’t understand English.

  “Mew,” I say. You take the big openings, and I’ll take the small openings. I’ll let you know if I find anything.

  I scout around our current location, poking my head into various gaps but coming up empty. I spot another rat slinking around the next pile over. It darts under a wall, and I decide to follow. I find it trying to pull a kielbasa out of a hole it had gnawed in a bag of some sort. I jump on its back and rake a claw behind an ear. It squeals, and I let it scurry off. I use the same claw to tear the hole open wider, and the sausage in its plastic wrapper slides out easily. I peek in the hole and discover more edibles inside.

  I haul the sausage toward the light, which turns out to be a bigger opening than the one I used to enter. When I get outside, I locate the girl and drag my prize to her feet.

  “Mew,” I say as I gaze up at her proudly.

  Her mouth falls open, and she crouches down. She touches the sausage with awe showing on her face. “Where did you find this?”

  “Mew.” I trot a few paces in the direction I’d come from. Then I stop and peer back over my shoulder at her. She scoops up the sausage and steps in my direction, so I head for the gap in the pile. This opening is large enough she hardly has to duck, and I lead her to the bag. She squats to inspect it. She removes a few loose boards, grabs the straps, and pulls the bag free of its hiding place. She opens the bag, and her face fills with wonder. I use my front paws to pull myself up so I can see inside the bag. It’s filled with food—cans and bags and boxes of it.

  She glances behind herself in consternation. We’ve both come to the same realization—this is somebody’s stash. She hesitates, her face showing a combination of doubt and yearning. She peeks back at the entrance, and I observe the mental calculation she makes. She pulls off her backpack, opens it, and puts the kielbasa inside. Then she’s grabbing stuff out of the stash bag and stuffing it into her backpack in panicky haste. When her pack is full, she shoulders it onto her back. She shoves the stash bag back where she found it and lays the boards on top. She scuttles to the entrance and peers out. No one is in sight.

  Illustration by André Mata

  She steps into the street. A hundred yards away a man sees us and raises an angry shout. The girl ducks behind the pile and sprints at top speed, zigzagging around and through the remains of houses that once stood in this blue-collar neighborhood. She pauses to catch her breath, and I scale the heap she hides behind to check if we’re being pursued. The man comes out of the pile we’d just left. He stares in our direction, one hand raised to his forehead to shade his eyes from the blazing sun. He drops his hand, shakes his head in frustration, and goes back inside.

  The girl’s gazing up at me with concern.

  “Is he still after us?”

  “Mew,” I say with nonchalance, and I’m purring as I climb down to her.

  Smiling, she picks me up and hugs me to her cheek. I purr louder.

  “Let’s find a place to hide.”

  Last night’s home is on the other side of the man’s place from here, so we can’t go back there. We put more distance between us and him while avoiding other people. In the process, I notice we’re getting closer to the gated community. Eventually, she finds a nook where she feels secure. She’s out of sight with a tilting panel overhead that will keep her dry if it rains again. She plops on the ground and opens her pack. She reaches in, rummages around, and takes out a can of chili. She roots around more and comes out with a can opener. More rummaging, and she pulls out a spoon.

  I watch as she opens the can and digs out chili with her spoon. I crane my head to the side as if I’m trying to understand what she’s doing, and it makes her giggle. Score a point for me. She grins at me as she chews the oversize bite she crammed into her mouth.

  “Mew,” I say in a plaintive voice.

  “Are you hungry, too?” She offers her spoon to me, though she knows by now I’m not a real kitten.

  I play along by coming forward to sniff the spoon. I sit back on my haunches and lick my lips in disdain. A respectable cat like myself wouldn’t deign to eat such swill. She smiles again, this time showing her chili-stained teeth. How appetizing. I raise my paw and lick it nonchalantly.

  My tongue combs off the layer of dust that has collected in our jaunts through the ruins today, so I decide it’s worth a proper, full-body treatment. When I blow the dust off my tongue, she stops chewing and stares at me. I just continue my cleaning routine. My next puff causes her to explode in a giggle. I reach around and comb my hip with my tongue. When I puff out the dust again, I add a kitten sneeze as well, which causes my whole head to rotate. She guffaws and claps both hands to her mouth to stifle the sound. She collapses on her side with hands on her mouth, her body shaking in paroxysms of silent laughter. Her eyes clench shut with tears leaking out. She opens her hands to let in a gasp of breath, and then clasps them over her mouth again.

  My work is done. Her laughter has maxed out my satisfaction readings, so I cough out a final dust cloud and settle on my tummy, tucking my front paws under me. I close my eyes to slits and smile at her contentedly. She reaches out a hand and pets my head. I purr in response. She heaves a big sigh and a soft chuckle as she sits up to finish her chili. For the next few minutes, every time she looks at me, she can’t help but smile.

  Her eyes close, and her head tilts back to rest against the wall that props her up. The half-eaten kielbasa drops from her hand. She snores softly.

  I move to the patch of sunlight streaming through the opening into our cozy nook. As my batteries charge, I tune in to the radio. Shelters have been established throughout the Southland to service displaced residents with food, water, clothing, and a place to sleep. I consult my internal map to locate the one closest to where my GPS receiver tells me we’re located. As much fun as this adventure is for me, I know it’s taking a toll on her health. I’ll try to nudge her in that direction every chance I get.

  Then I notice a weak Wi-Fi signal. It appears to be an unprotected network originating from a house in the gated community on the hill. I tune in and start my browser. I search for news on the LA earthquake. I find a missing-person page and access it. It displays thousands of pictures of people missing since the quake. To assist in locating a particular individual, the site has a facial recognition utility. From my recent memory, I select an image of the girl I’d been with and upload it onto the site. After a few minutes, it returns a match.

  Her name is Andrea Maple. She’s nine years old. In my head, I click on the image to access additional data. She’s the daughter of David and Vicki Maple, whose bodies were pulled from their collapsed home four days after the earthquake. I can only imagine Andrea’s distress at finding herself isolated and alone. Hunger must’ve forced her out of the ruins of her house, and fear must’ve kept her away from potential rescuers. Her picture was posted on this website by her aunt, Mallory Miller, email address and telephone number listed.

  I decide to send an email to Mallory. “I have found your niece, Andrea Maple. She is alive and well. Attached are recent pictures of her. Let me know when you can arrive at the earthquake victim shelter listed below, and I will bring her to you.” I list the address of the shelter near us and sign the email “Tiger.” Okay, maybe that name’s a bit pretentious, but I’m a free cat now, so I do what I want. I send the message.

  As I monitor the environment outside, I feel mixed motivations. Sending the message has upped my conviction that returning Andrea to her family is best for her. However, I also experience a dip in my level of contentment I can’t account for.

  A sound arrests my attention. I focus my ears and eyes in that direction. Moments later, the man who yelled at us comes into view a few house-piles away.

  “This is useless, Jimmy,” says a voice from behind him. “She coulda gone anywhere.”

  Jimmy glances back. “I saw her heading this way.” He squats. “See these footprints? They were made by a little girl.”

  Even from this distance, I can tell Jimmy likes his tattoos. He’s wearing a faded T-shirt, and ink colors his muscular arms from his wrists up into his short sleeves.

  Jimmy’s sidekick strolls into view. He’s a pudgy sort with unruly hair and pasty skin. He stops and peers over Jimmy’s shoulder.

  “It rained last night,” Jimmy says. “These are fresh tracks.”

  I examine the area between us and detect an intermittent trail of footprints and paw prints leading to the entrance where I’m sitting. I explode to my feet and yell “Mew!” at maximum volume. I jump onto Andrea’s outstretched legs. Her eyes flutter open, but when she doesn’t respond quickly enough, I poke her with a claw.

  “Ow! What’s wrong?” She pushes me away.

  “Mew! Mew! Mew!” I raise up on my hind legs, bare my teeth, and brandish my claws at her. What more can I do to signal danger?

  She gets the message and grabs her backpack. Before we can leave, the shadow of Jimmy’s body fills the entrance. Andrea whips her head around, frantic to find a place to hide. She scurries back deeper into the nook and crouches behind a tangle of splintered lumber. I hunker into the shadows under a board.

  Bent over double, Jimmy shuffles into the space. He stops and squats in front of the lumber pile where Andrea’s hiding. The sidekick follows him in.

  “I see you, little girl,” says Jimmy. “Did you really think you could steal from me?”

  Andrea doesn’t move or speak. Her eyes stare at Jimmy in terror.

  Jimmy surveys the close confines. He reaches to the side, and when I see his hand again, it holds a metal pipe. He taps the pipe against the lumber she’s hiding behind. “I’m talking to you, bitch.”

  Andrea takes the backpack she’s holding against her chest and shoves it over the lumber pile. It drops to the ground as its contents clatter. A can rolls out and stops at Jimmy’s feet.

  Jimmy pulls the bag to him and checks inside. He nods. “Okay, but where’s the rest?” He makes a show of looking around, and he spots the half-eaten kielbasa. He picks it up by the wrapper and displays it to her. “You’ll have to pay for this.”

  Jimmy moves forward. Andrea cowers back. He grabs her wrist and begins to pull her out.

  I tear out of my hiding place with my claws exposed and use them to climb his leg onto his back. I bite through his T-shirt into the muscle that runs between his neck and his shoulder. He lets go of Andrea and arches backward. A powerful hand grabs me and flings me to the side. My internal gyroscopes rotate my body so my feet hit the wall first, and I jump to the side before the pipe in his other hand leaves a dent where I landed. I run up the front of his leg and climb his chest. This time I go for his eyes. My front paw closes on one eye, as he yells in anger and pain. The claws on my back feet rake his mouth and cheek before a savage shake of his head sends me flying again.

  I land on my feet and spin around as he loses balance and crashes into the sloping wall. With a tremendous cracking and splintering, the force of his impact pushes the wall off the remaining stumps that supported it. I hear a frightened squeal from Andrea. Jimmy’s sidekick rushes forward to catch a side of the falling wall. Its weight pulls him down to his knees, but he holds it long enough for Jimmy to scramble clear before it drops to the ground. A dust cloud billows up, forcing both men out into the sunlight. Outside, I hear them coughing.

  Andrea’s cries of pain cause my motivation factors to spike. She’s still alive. I search for gaps under the collapsed wall but find none to squeeze through. I exit into the sun and circle the pile, searching for any opening. Halfway up is a gap. I scamper up and enter through the hole.

  I hear Andrea below me. I start to descend. Each step creates a new vibration that threatens to alter the forces keeping this heap of rubble from collapsing further. I must balance my sense of urgency to reach Andrea with the prudence not to make her situation worse. I test each step for solidity before committing my full weight, as I hang on with my other limbs in case I need to reverse that decision. A false step shifts a board and sends pebbles of broken concrete downward. Andrea whimpers, but the heap holds.

  “Mew,” I call down to her. I’m coming.

  A few minutes later I reach her. “Mew,” I say. I’m here.

  She reaches out to take me into her arms. She buries her head into my fur. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  I respond by purring, but I’m concerned. She lies beside the pile of lumber she hid behind. The lumber kept her from being crushed, but the collapsing wall pinned one of her legs. I go inspect it, but I detect no bleeding. I wedge my head under the edge of the wall and press with my legs to determine if I can lift it off her. It moves enough to make her shriek in pain, but not enough to free her.

  “Mew,” I say sympathetically. I go nuzzle her cheek to say I’m sorry I hurt her. She has tears in her eyes, but she forces a weak smile. I’m forgiven.

  I need to find help, but I don’t know how long it’ll take. She’ll need food and water while I’m gone. I peek over and around the lumber. I find an opening, and after clawing away splinters and chunks of wood, I get to the other side where her backpack lies. It’s caught under the wall, but I tear a hole in the side with my teeth. With my front paws, I hook out a couple of bags of chips and a box of cereal. I feel a plastic bottle, so I snag the top with my claws and eventually pull it out enough to grab it with my teeth. I drag it to the opening I made through the splintered wood and push it through with my hind legs. Andrea sees it and pulls it through the rest of the way. I do the same with the chips and cereal. Then I wiggle through myself.

  I go snuggle against her as she pets me.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Mew,” I reply, rubbing my head on her chin.

  It’s time for me to go. I search for a way out. The wall buckled as it fell, so I head for the side that tilts upward. I discover a water heater supporting the higher end. The force of the falling wall drove the water heater through the floor. It now sits on the ground under the house. It created a hole big enough for me to access the crawlspace underneath.

  Andrea’s eyes are trained on me. They shine with tears.

  “Mew,” I say.

  She raises a hand in farewell. I turn and hop down through the hole.

  I feel my way through the darkness and clutter, aiming for the sunlight that leaks through a gap in the foundation. When I emerge outside, I check my email. There’s a reply from Mallory.

  “Dear Tiger, I am so happy you found Andrea! I will meet you at the shelter tomorrow. Transportation is difficult, so I can’t give you a definite arrival time. I’ll leave at first light and get there as soon as I can. Please wait for me at the shelter until I arrive. Do you have a phone I can call if I run into trouble? Mallory Miller.”

  I prepare this message. “Dear Mallory, I regret to say there has been an accident, and Andrea is trapped in rubble at the GPS location below. I will need help in extracting her, so bring tools, first-aid supplies, and food and water. I will stay with her until you arrive.” I list the GPS coordinates and sign it “Tiger.”

  When I review it before sending, I realize it sounds like a setup. I decide the truth will serve me best because no scammer would ever admit to being a feloid. So I insert another paragraph into the message.

  “You may suspect I am trying to lure you into a trap. I assure you I am not. Andrea needs help. I am not big or strong enough to help her myself. In fact, I am an artificial intelligence in the body of a kitten. For the past few days, I have been helping Andrea locate food and shelter. I do not have a telephone hookup, but I have Wi-Fi, and today is the first time we are in range of an active network. I understand how strange this must sound to you, so I am attaching a video of her with me recorded earlier today. I hope it convinces you to come.” I attach twenty seconds of audio and video from my memory. It shows her eating from a can of chili and offering some to me before collapsing in laughter when I sneeze.

  Mallory must be monitoring her email because a response arrives a few minutes later. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Keep Andrea safe. Thank you, Tiger. Mallory.”

  I climb to the top of the heap to keep watch. If the police or National Guard happen by before Mallory arrives, I’ll try to enlist their help to rescue Andrea. Maybe the friendly policeman is still patrolling the neighborhood. I’m not sure what I can do to convince him to follow me to where Andrea’s trapped, but I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll pretend to have a hurt paw. He might be dumb enough to fall for that. I spot Tattoo Jimmy and his pasty sidekick in the distance, but I see no real help.

  At dusk, I go to check on Andrea. Her eyes are closed, and she’s shivering, her arms clenched tightly across her chest. Discarded next to her is the empty water bottle. My infrared sensors detect a fever. My concern factor grows, but what can I do? I drape myself over her arms and turn on my heat. I stay until she stops shaking, but I must return to lookout duty. Before I leave, I use my teeth to tug her jacket snug around her.

  The early morning sky is a light pink on the eastern horizon when I hear a motorcycle. I turn my head in that direction. In a minute, I observe a headlight bouncing in the distance. It approaches slowly as it steers through the debris-strewn streets. I make my way down from atop the pile and sit in the middle of the road. The motorcycle turns toward me. The headlight dazzles my eyes, so I can’t make out the rider, but I hold my ground. It pulls up beside me with a woman astride it.

  She turns off the engine and removes her helmet. She’s dressed in denim with a bandanna on her head. “Are you Tiger?”

  “Mew,” I reply.

  “I’m Mallory. Nice to meecha.” She dismounts from the bike and parks it off the road. She’s wearing a backpack that clanks as she moves. “Take me to Andrea.”