Home

I've been in this home before. If you can even call it a home. It's a cage really. The food is awful and dry but it's regular. It's the stench that's truly inhumane, rising up from the floors, like dead bodies from a grave. It's what brings the reality crashing back. That reminds us this isn't how life is meant to be lived. It's especially unbearable when the sun hits the stains on the cement where others soiled themselves in their own rooms.

I was brought here because I broke the cardinal sin of our kind. I bit someone. They deserved it, though, the tiny beastly thing. I regret nothing. My punishment is being sent to this place for others like me, brought here to be humbled into submission.

Simon starts jumping in place like he's a broken jack-in-the box and shouts at the top of his lungs. It's how the rest of us know someone's come in to gawk at us. He's directly in front of the door.

The answering sounds of my comrades around me are deafening. Even worse than the smell, their roars and taunting make my ears tingle. I lower my head instead of joining them. Provoking doesn't accomplish anything. You either get picked or you don't. If you're lucky you'll get a break from the prison stench but that's all. The sooner Simon learns that the better. But Simon's as dumb as they come.

I smell them before I see them. Without moving my head I breath in the fruity minty scent of the person nearing my cell. Any fragrence would stand out in this place but something about the combination does funny things with my head. Brings back memories. Feelings. Fleeting and blurry, but happy. I wasn't always forgotten about, I was loved once. The reminder is just as painful as it is wonderful.

The person kneels in front of me. I'm squatting in the corner of my cell, back against the wall, and I raise my head to look at them. They stare at me through the holes of the chain link fence that protects them from me. Their face is red and shiny.

"Hi, there." they say surprised, as if they assumed my cell to be empty. They look up at a sign above my cell. "Oscar?"

I know better than to be hopeful. Just because I'm where they stop means nothing. Even when they open my cage and reach in for me I know it'll be frutiless.

I know the drill: walk around the facility with them, be evaluated, be good. But what's the point? I never leave. Maybe someday I'll be put by the door like Simon. The first sight of those entering. Springing and shouting because I've lost my mind hoping someone will care about me again.

Stepping outside the air seems to have fingers that reach into me and pull me forward. Fragrant fresh air. My nose leads me, sniffing rapidly to store as much of it as I can before going back in. So many smells I'd almost forgotten about. The grass and trees and things blowing in the wind from far away. Everything. I want to smell everything. To drown out the stench until I can't remember the cell.

We've made our rounds and I've no idea what the person's said as we make our way back to the building. I knew it wouldn't last long but still it stings to be lead through the front doors again. To be taken back, heading for my cell. It hurts a little worse each time.

The fresh air renewed me only to be crushed under the weight of filth again.

I turn the corner, making my way to the doors that have Simon on the other side. But I'm tugged gently in the opposite direction. I freeze in place staring blankly at the person that chose me.

They motion for me to follow them, encourage me to their side. We sit at a desk where I watch in astonishment as this person talks with the front desk, nods their head, and signs papers.

I study them differently now. How they smile at those around them making their ruddy cheeks bulge like shiny apples. How they reach out to me subconscienly as if I'm already ingrained into their memory. How they cross their feet and sit peacefully like there isn't a care in the world.

It's so apparent I can almost smell it. This person is good. They are kind and warm and affectionate. The realization has me on my feet. Moving closer to them. Feeling a hope like I haven't felt in a long time. I'm suddenly a youngin' bouncing and panting trying to get them to pick me even though it seems they already have.

We turn away from the desk. Beside this new person I'm walking again toward the front doors. I'm leaving. I will greet fresh air again like a long lost friend and embrace it, cling to it so it knows how much I've missed it. Only there's no way to tell it such things because it is bigger than what I remembered and drowns out the sounds of my own thoughts as it whips past me through the open window of this person's car.

I look at the person. My person. This lovely red faced thing that freed me and gave me another chance. I want to tell them I'll never bite them. That I'll be good and honest and trustworthy. I do so the only way I know how. I lick their face and wag my tail at their laughter.  I'm going to live life like it's suppossed to be lived. Be loved. I have a home.