Valo had dived into bushes or slipped into dark alleyways a few times during the walk to avoid wandering humans.
Most of them carried the same strong, pungent smell that only appeared after the moon had climbed high into the sky. It clung to their clothes and breath alike, sour enough to make his nose wrinkle.
Humans who smelled like that were... strange.
They laughed too loudly. Talked to no one in particular. Sometimes they sang. Sometimes they argued with lamp posts. Other times, they simply stumbled forward as though they'd forgotten how walking worked.
Worst of all, they became unpredictable.
Valo had learned that lesson the hard way.
Once, when he was younger, curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had approached a man who smelled exactly like this, hoping for a scratch behind the ears or perhaps a bite of whatever food the human was carrying.
Instead, the man had shouted something incomprehensible and swung his foot.
The kick had missed by little more than the length of Valo's tail.
Ever since then, that sour smell had become one of the few things he genuinely avoided.
There was no point taking unnecessary risks.
The city was full of kind humans anyway.
Why bother with the unpleasant ones?
Soon enough the crowded streets gave way to quieter paths.
The river came into view, its surface glimmering beneath rows of gas lamps that stretched alongside the embankment. Their golden reflections danced lazily atop the slow current, breaking apart whenever the breeze disturbed the water.
Valo always liked this part of the city.
The river never seemed to sleep.
Even at this hour it whispered softly as it wound its way toward the sea, carrying with it fallen leaves, little twigs, and the occasional paper boat some child had forgotten during the day.
He followed the river downstream.
His paws made barely a sound against the worn stone path.
Every now and then he paused, ears swiveling toward the water.
A fish jumped.
Splash.
His eyes lingered on the ripples for a moment.
"...Maybe another day."
He already had dinner.
Besides, catching fish from the river was troublesome. They were slippery, fast, and had an annoying habit of disappearing the instant you thought you had them.
Field mice were much simpler.
The riverbank gradually became greener as the city thinned around it. Trees leaned over the water, their branches shedding amber leaves that drifted lazily onto the current. A pair of ducks floated past without paying Valo the slightest bit of attention.
He ignored them as well.
Too much effort.
Valo continued along the riverside park toward what he proudly called home.
Whether anyone else would agree was another matter.
It wasn't a house.
Nor was it a shed.
Certainly not one of the cozy little cottages humans lived in.
Instead, nestled beneath the sprawling roots of an ancient willow tree stood a forgotten maintenance hut. Time and weather had long since claimed most of its wooden walls, leaving only a sturdy frame and half a roof intact.
Humans rarely came here anymore.
The floor stayed dry when it rained.
The roots blocked the worst of the wind during winter.
Morning sunlight reached the entrance just after dawn.
By every standard that mattered to a cat...
It was perfect.
Valo still carried his prey proudly between his jaws, his tail held high as he strolled along the winding path.
A successful hunt always made the walk home feel shorter.
Not because he hurried.
Quite the opposite.
Good days deserved to be savored.
As he rounded the final bend in the path, a familiar scent drifted toward him.
That of a cat.
But not just any cat.
Old one.
A male.
A little grumpy.
Valo's ears perked.
"Back already?" came a raspy voice from atop the stone wall bordering the river.
An aging gray tomcat peered down at him with half-lidded green eyes.
His scarred ears twitched.
Valo looked up, the mouse still dangling from his mouth.
"Mrr."
The old Tom snorted.
"Showing off again, are you?"
Valo simply blinked.
Perhaps he was.
Just a little.
Valo lowered the mouse onto the path and looked up at Old Tom.
"As grumpy as ever, I see, old man."
He rested a paw atop the mouse and tilted his head with an easy smile.
"Why don't you come down and share this little snack with me? You could tell me about that time a human almost took you home again."
Old Tom's whiskers twitched.
"I've told you that story five times."
"Only five?"
"Six."
"Then I think it's due for a seventh."
The old tom let out a low, theatrical sigh that sounded as though Valo had asked him to climb the tallest tree in the city.
"Hmph."
Despite the complaint, he rose to his paws.
Old Tom was, in many ways, exactly what every kitten imagined an old cat would become.
His fur, once a handsome charcoal gray, had faded around the muzzle until it was almost silver. Tiny scars hid beneath his thick coat, each one carrying a story he rarely shared. One ear bore a permanent notch, and his right hind leg had never quite healed after an encounter with a carriage years ago.
He grumbled about everything. Nothing was ever good enough and something was always wrong.
The weather was too warm. The weather was too cold. Young cats talked too much. Birds flew too high. Fish were getting smaller. Humans were getting louder.
Life, according to Old Tom, had been better twenty years ago. Meanwhile Valo suspected Old Tom had been saying that for at least twenty years.
With another exaggerated snort, the old cat hopped down from the wall.
The landing wasn't exactly graceful. His back legs buckled for half a heartbeat before catching themselves.
Old Tom pretended not to notice.
Valo pretended not to notice either.
Some things were better left unmentioned.
Without another word, the old tom padded toward the abandoned maintenance hut beneath the willow tree.
He entered as though he owned the place.
Valo smiled to himself, picked up the mouse, and followed with light, cheerful steps.
Near the back rested a nest made from scraps of blankets, burlap sacks, and enough dry grass to rival a bird's masterpiece. They had spent the better part of one spring dragging every usable piece inside.
Mostly Valo. Because Old Tom had complained his joints hurt.
Old Tom settled into his usual corner with an audible groan.
"There," he muttered. "Finally sitting where civilized cats belong."
Valo laughed through his nose before placing the mouse between them.
He nudged it toward the older tom.
"You caught it," Old Tom said.
"So?"
"So you eat it."
"I can catch another tomorrow."
Old Tom looked at him for a long moment.
"...You're an odd cat."
"I've been told."
"No, you haven't."
"I haven't?"
"No."
Valo blinked.
"Huh."
Old Tom shook his head.
"Most strays would've eaten the whole thing before I even smelled it."
"But you're here."
"...I am."
"So eating together sounds better."
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
The river murmured outside, leaves scraped softly across the roof, and somewhere in the distance a church bell marked another passing hour.
Old Tom finally tore off a small piece of the mouse.
"...That human story again, was it?"
Valo's ears perked immediately.
"Mhm."
"You know how it ends."
"I do."
"Then why keep asking?"
Valo rested his chin on his paws.
"Because you smile during the middle of it."
Old Tom froze.
"I do not."
"You always do."
"I absolutely do not."
"You smile when you talk about the little girl who wrapped you in a blanket."
"..."
"And when you tell me she cried because her parents wouldn't let her keep you."
"..."
"And when you say she visited the alley every afternoon for two whole weeks hoping you'd come back."
Old Tom busied himself with grooming a paw.
"You imagine things."
Valo only smiled.
The old tom's ears flicked in annoyance. Or perhaps embarrassment.
"...Fine," Old Tom muttered.
"I'll tell it one last time."
Valo's eyes sparkled.
"You said that last time."