Hunted

A story by Tygon Panthera 

This story is © 2005 by Marc-Dennis Horn. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical, optical or any other mediums. 

Victoria Maine-Panthera © by Joshua Fox

All other characters are © by Marc-Dennis Horn      

            A squeal. The sounds of hurried footpaws hitting dry leaves. Pantings. A loud grunt. Something large hits something solid. Another squeal and the sound of claws scratching over wood.

            In a fanatic struggle to bring distance between herself and the ground the small girl reached as high as she could. Hooking her fingers into the gnarled bark of the large tree she pulled herself up along its trunk. Fortunately for her this tree was not the first she had climbed and it was by far not the most difficult to climb. Her tail was curled up between her legs as she almost shot upwards, quickly gaining height.

            “You can’t run from me,” a deep voice growled somewhere behind her. “And you certainly can’t climb from me.”

            The girl didn’t dare looking behind herself, but the sound of wood being chipped off as long, strong claws dug into it was enough to tell her that she was not safe yet. A mewl escaped her. The first branches were almost in reach. If she made it up there she had a chance, if she could slip between those thick bars of wood she might get away.

            Something touched the girl’s right foot and she squealed again. Her fingers reached the lowest branch. Small claws hooked into the bark and a moment later she was gone, crouched on the wooden beam. Had it been summer she would be hidden behind a thick layer of green leaves now but it was not and the few yellow-brown bits of foliage were totally inadequate as cover. After a second of hesitation she reached up and grabbed another branch. Just in time too, for the moment her footpaws left the first branch a large tawny paw tried to grab her.

            “I’m coming, little one,” the voice said in a menacing growl. “Coming for you!”

            Squealing yet again in reply the girl climbed from branch to branch, moving quickly in the crown of the large tree as if she had been born there. Only after it seemed to her as if she had climbed at least four trees she slowed down. Her ears perked and swiveled around, scanning for sounds. Unfortunately she had set so many branches of the tree in motion herself that it was impossible to tell if she was still bring followed. Her nose told her that she was, but that did not help much. Carefully glancing around she pressed her back against the tree and waited. After a few moments things went silent and the tree became still once again. The girl still listened and glanced around but no sign of her pursuer was to be seen or heard. Maybe he had given up? Maybe she was too quick for him or maybe he could not fit between the branches?

            Just as she begun to relax a new sound reached her ears. It was a slow, deep sound, the groaning of wood underneath a weight much greater than her own. Again her ears swiveled. It came from... behind her!

            Suddenly there was movement to both sides of her and before the girl could move, large paws had reached around and grabbed her. “Gotcha!” a voice close to her right ear purred.

            “Leggo, leggo!” Cinnamon squealed, strugging gleefully in her father’s grip.

            “After I chased you up and down the entire garden twice?” Tygon replied with a chuckle. “I do not think so.”

            It took some work and careful balancing but eventually Tygon managed to settle himself down into a rather comfortable nook formed by three branches. The struggling girl did her best to escape her father’s grip but he was rather determined not to let her go. Not because he was afraid that she might fall. In fact, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t. After all, as his mother used to say, ‘We are cats, we don’t fall’.  He was worried that if he let her go he would have to chase her all over again. Tygon might have been a better runner than his much smaller daughter but she had the advantage of maneuverability, so to speak. Plus, she could get into places he was quite simply too big for, and she had the inexhaustible energy of cubs on her side. Only when Tygon managed to pull Cinny into his lap and trap her in a tight embrace did she calm down.

            A casual watcher might never get the idea that these two furs might be related. Tygon was large and muscular, a big cat in his prime years. Tawny fur covered his body, decorated with black stripes and his face was framed by a long, fiery red mane. Cinnamon took more after her mother, who was a Maine coon cat and not a tiger-lion hybrid. The girl had auburn fur with a patch of pure white on her front and her muzzle. The black stripes that her father had donated to her coloration were hard to see at all. More noticeable was the mass of cinnamon colored headfur that had given the child her name. The one true similarity between them were the eyes. Both shared the same amber eyes that radiated kindness and curiosity.

            Cinnamon’s struggles soon died down and instead she snuggled against her father’s broad chest. A soft purr came from her that made Tygon tingle with love for his daughter. He loved the small girl more than most things in the world. When he had met Victoria she filled a void in his life that the hybrid had tried to fill for years.  When Cinny was born his life had become even better. Finally he had a family again.

            “Well, I think we better go,” Tygon whispered to his daughter. “Dinner can’t be long.” Cinnamon however had already directed her attention to something else.

            “Look papa!” she mewed, pointing to something above them. “An apple!”

            Tygon looked up and indeed he found a big, deeply red apple hanging almost right above them. “Well, well... seems like we missed one.” With these words the large feline reached up, his fingers wrapping around the fruit. Carefully he squeezed it, fearing that it was already overly ripe. They had harvested most of the apples two weeks ago already but this one seemed to have matured to perfection since then. It was firm and evenly red colored. With a quick tug Tygon plucked the apple and almost immediately Cinnamon reached for it.

            “Gimmegimmegimme!” she squealed and Tygon had to hug her back to his chest to keep her from pouncing the apple.

            “Patience, young one,” he replied to her request and only after he was sure that she would stay put in his lap he let go of her. Utilizing his claws Tygon then cut the skin of the apple around and with a firm twist had divided it in half. One of these halves he pawed to his daughter who sunk her teeth in it hungrily. A moment later Tygon did the same and a deep purr rose in his throat as the sweet juices of the fruit flooded his mouth. There were few things quite like a fresh apple. There was a time in his youth when Tygon had eaten almost nothing but apples. His parents used to joke that he was turning into a herbivore back then. That time had long passed but the feline’s love for the fruits still remained. He usually preferred the fresh, slightly sour green ones but this one was so good, it seemed almost impossible.

            It didn’t take long for father and daughter to devour their respective halves of the tasty apple and as if that had been the cue they heard a voice carry over to them from the house. “Cinnamon? Tygon?”

            “We’re here, honey!” Tygon called back, turning his head in a vain attempt to try and catch a glimpse of Victoria.

            “In the applet’ee!” Cinny added, already climbing out of her father’s lap.

            “Come inside you two!” Victoria called. “Dinner is ready!”

            “On our way, dear!” Both Cinnamon and Tygon made the way down rather easily and quickly. Back on the ground the tigon picked his daughter up and lifted her so that she could sit on his shoulders. “Not a word about the apple to mama,” he whispered. “You know she doesn’t like it when we grab snacks before dinner.”

            With quick steps Tygon walked through the garden back towards the house, wanting to let neither dinner nor his wife wait longer than necessary. Victoria stood at the door to the winter garden, a cardigan wrapped around her upper body in addition to her normal clothes. “Cold?” Tygon asked with a grin as he leaned down to nuzzle the Maine coon cat.

            “I do not know how you two can stand temperatures like these,” Victoria replied in a gruff voice. The nuzzle she returned to Tygon held only love though.

            “Especially since you had the most fur of all of us,” the larger feline replied, earning a well deserved punch in the shoulder from his wife.

            “We had a really tasty apple, mama!” Cinnamon mewed a moment later.

            “Hey!” Tygon shouted but before he could say anything else Victoria interrupted him.

            “Tygon Maine-Panthera von Löwenstein!” she said in a rather loud voice. “You know how I think about snacks before dinner.”

            “I’m sorry, dear,” Tygon replied, the mere fact that she had used his full name making his ears fold back. She only used that name when she was angry with him.

            “But it was really tasty!” Cinnamon exclaimed, feeling that this should settle the whole dispute that was growing between her parents.

            Victoria looked up to her daughter and the back to her husband. “Go and get her cleaned up. I want to see you both at the dinner table within ten minutes,” she said in the same stern voice before she turned and marched into the house, still clutching the cardigan to her upper body.

            Tygon looked after her for a moment before he turned his head enough to glance up to his daughter. “Traitor,” he muttered before he started walking into the house himself.

            “But it was really tasty!” the small cat replied, completely at a loss to what the problem was.

The end.