Chapter 2
It took me three full days to adjust to life as a cat.
I'd staked out a base behind the old boiler room in the southeast corner of campus—dry leaves made a surprisingly comfy bed, and generous students occasionally left behind scraps I could eat.
Oddly enough, my body adapted faster than my human mind. Instincts kicked in: leaping, climbing, even washing my face with a paw felt natural.
My orange-and-white fur shimmered in the sunlight. Students started calling me "Kitty," but I knew who I really was.
On the fourth morning, I made a decision. I was going to follow Parker.
The sun hadn't fully risen, and the autumn dew glistened like tiny pearls on the grass.
Perched on a low wall outside the dorms, I watched him exit the shabby building.
He looked thinner than most kids his age. His oversized uniform hung on him like a coat rack.
Dark circles framed his pale face, and he carried a bulging canvas bag in one hand.
He walked fast, with a lightness in his step that reminded me of... well, a cat like me.
I had to jog to keep up, making sure I stayed a safe distance behind.
Instead of heading to class, he veered off toward the western edge of campus, where a small grove of trees shielded a row of crumbling cement buildings—abandoned warehouses by the look of them.
Parker stopped at the third one and pulled a key from his pocket.
The moment the door creaked open, I heard a faint meow.
Curiosity tugged at me. I crept closer, hopped onto a broken windowsill, and peeked through the grimy glass.
I froze at the sight.
Inside were over a dozen cats and dogs—some limping, others blind, many so thin their bones showed through their skin—all crowding around Parker's feet.
He moved quickly, expertly—pouring clean water into plastic bowls, dividing up leftovers from the cafeteria, cheap kibble, even a few hot dogs.
A three-legged mutt rubbed against his shin. Parker crouched down and gently stroked its head.
"Easy, Berry," he said softly. "We've got sausage today. Hazel from the kitchen snuck it to me."
I nearly slipped off the windowsill.
This... this was Parker? The same Parker who, in the novel, would grow up to destroy opponents and ruin families without blinking?
Now he looked like a half-starved teenager feeding stray animals with food he probably needed himself.
A gray cat suddenly looked up right at me.
One by one, all the animals turned toward the window. Then Parker followed their gaze.
Our eyes met through the foggy glass. He squinted. I bolted
My heart pounded in my tiny chest as I tore through bushes and ducked under branches.
Thorns scratched my belly, but I didn't stop until I'd made it behind the classroom building.
The rest of the morning, I hid in a flowerbed, trying to process what I'd just seen.
The book barely mentioned Parker's youth—just that he was bullied and eventually hardened into someone ruthless.
There'd been no mention of stray animals and no mention of him sharing food with them.
When the lunch bell rang, I decided to try my luck at the cafeteria.
Stray cats relied on leftovers tossed by students, but the strong toms always claimed the best spots.
Being new, I had to wait until they were done.
Just as I crept toward one of the bins, something clamped down on the back of my neck—a huge tabby had grabbed me.
"New here, huh?" he snarled, slamming me to the ground. "This is my turf."
I fought back, but instinctively, my smaller feline body submitted to the alpha's weight.
His teeth were inches from my throat when a pebble hit him square on the head.
"Back off!" A cold voice sounded.
The tabby yelped and fled.
I looked up. Parker stood 10 feet away, flipping another stone in his hand.
He looked worse than this morning—lips dry, eyes sunken.
We locked eyes for a heartbeat, then both glanced away.
He turned to go. I hesitated, then let out the softest "meow."
He stopped, but he didn't turn around.
"Don't expect me to keep saving you," he muttered, and walked off.
That night, behind the boiler room, I ran into Berry, the three-legged dog Parker had called by name.
He was digging through a trash pile, ears twitching when he noticed me.
"Daylight kitten," he rasped. "You're new?"
I nodded, stunned that I could somehow understand him.
Berry told me Parker had been caring for the campus strays for over two years—since middle school.
"That kid can barely feed himself," Berry said with a weary sigh. "But he never misses a day. Brings us into the warehouse when it rains. Makes beds from old coats in winter."
"Why?" I asked.
Berry's cloudy eyes met mine. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe... because he's a stray too."