back alleys

The back alleys are quiet, the main roads are loud. I try to stay in the back alleys.

Cats are patrolling them, suspiciously looking here and there. One of them stops to stare at me for a second, but as I kneel down and offer to pet it, it gives me a contemptuous look and walks away.

It has been many months. The last time I was here I ended up running away, pulling the Caboose towards the border of a country that seemed to be a safer place at the time.

Now the Caboose is in a village far away, and I have returned.

Another cat appears on a roof and looks at me.

What are you doing here? it seems to be asking.