Sly's Questionnaire

Sly was happy for his first 7 years of life. 

The orphanage wasn't a palace, but it was always warm in the winter, and cool in the summer, and the children mostly didn't hurt each other. Such accommodations couldn't be said for some of the places Sly spent his later childhood. 

The other children picked on him some. His color and complexion made him stand out. So he learned to embrace it. Tricks, stunts, the occasional theft of sweets from the local grocery. Everyone looked at him still, but they knew him.

Then his ears started to change. And then his nose. And then he had to run. 

Town to town, first as a boy, then as a cat, then as both, as he grew more comfortable with his nature. 

He found places to stay, but only for a short while. Home remained elusive. 

Sly watched his mark.

He was curled up in a box of cardboard. All black, blending with the shadows of the alley.  The mark was in his mid twenties. That was good to know. More likely to live alone, less likely to have a house with a security system or cameras. Cameras are bad . Cops investigating a break in is fine. Cops letting authorities know that they saw a boy with cat ears meant that people would come looking for the strange.

Sly had almost been caught a few times.

Sly watched his mark, tail twitching back and forth.

1 am. He went. Padded feet up the fire escape. He got to the windows. There is an open one.

Easy pickings. He slips inside. He becomes a his boy form. Moving quiet. He finds the mans wallet, takes some food from his pantry. Not enough to notice. That way he can come back next month and steal more.

He leaves un noticed.

Enough food for a few days. As long as he doesn't have to run.

Sly looks through the window of the pawn shop.

It is so shiny. 4 sets of knives. Balanced for throwing. The handles are so polished and nice. 

He wants it. Sly wants nice things, but can't keep them often. He'll have to run, and leave a shelter behind. Or he will stash something in a hard to reach place, only to find some bird or rat, or other homeless person had found it and taken his nice things.

These look like nice things he could keep with him. 

"Shoo! Get out of here you mangy stray!"

The owner chases him away.

We would take it. Tonight. He wants it. That is the only way he can get what he needs. How he can get good things.

That evening he unwrapped his tools for lock picking. He moved carefully.

Click.

A quick run in, a grab. A few other things that catch his eye.

Then he runs.

Darkness swirls aorund him, sirens in the distance.

He is a cat before they arrive, and then he is gone in the night.

Sly looked in the mirror. He is 7. Probably. Ages are not exact when you are left on a doorstep as a baby. 

His messy hair has a new bit of fur added. Feeling the side of his head, he can feel his old ears have become flush with his head. They have shrunken in more. Retreating in as the ears on the top of his head grow in. 

His nose is changing. Becoming more squat. Wet. Smelling more. 

"No... No please. Go back! Please..."

"Simon? Simon are you alright in there?"

Sly jumps. The adults. What will they do?

Can he trust them.

Sly opens the door.  

---------

It was a few days before the men in suits came. 

He heard them talking. 

The adults were scared. They wanted to get rid of him.

And so he ran.

And he never trusted an adult again.

Sly slips through the window. 

The owners here always kept it open.  If he came at the right time of month, then....

"Oh hey there! What's your name?"

The old man. Gerald. He forget's Sly every time he comes. It's good that way. If Sly stays anywhere too long as a cat, people will try and catch him. Or take a picture put up sign. Then the men in suits come and he has to run again. 

Gerard forgot Sly every time, and that was the way Sly liked it. He got a few days of food, care and affection, he could leave, then come back a month later for the same. 


He had tried this before. When he was 8 and starving. An older woman, Samantha. She had made him a little sweater. That didn't stop her from turning on him when he had tried to reveal himself to her.

He'd had better luck with the homeless. Greg had known him as a cat and a boy, and not cared. Used the revolver now in Sly's backpack to scare off some rough looking men when Sly as sick. Of course Greg had died by the time Sly was 11, leaving him with just his gun to remember him by.

Sly dreams.

He is 10. 

He is a cat. 

He sneaks through a school yard.

He has been able to find food for a few years now. That first year was hard. But tricks that work once work again, and cats are very good at sneaking. 

But now he craves something different. 

He watches children play. They seem so big.

He sneaks over, moving underneath the playground.

"Kitty!!!" A little girl spots him first. She runs over and stares at him.

Sly stares back.

"Meow."

"Oh you are so cute!!!!"

The girl picks up Sly, and brings him to the other children.

Sly is the center of attention again. It's been a while since he has been, and ... it feels good. He hasn't been touched for a long time, and it feel nice.


He lets out a little purr.

"Hey, what's that!"

An older woman, and the kids scatter.

"Let go of the cat Missy, you don't know where it's been."

Sly doesn't wait to be dropped. He jumps and flees. 

A few minutes of touch would have to be enough.

Sly is 13.

It was a rough winter. 

He went too far north. Chicago. There were plenty of things to steal, and good targets in the summer and fall. But winter was cold. Too cold.

He had burned through all of his saved food and saved money. And then this stored fat. He stayed as a cat, and by the time the cold wouldn't kill him, he was thin.

Far too thin and weak.

Weak enough that he couldn't get away when she found him.

She was older. A college student.

He was curled up under a bed in the dorms. 

She found him and brought him food. Cat food, but Sly had eaten worse. 

Her name was Tessa. She was a college freshman. Short and had half of her head shaved. She gave him food, and let him cuddle in her bed for a semester.

At the end, she wanted to take him to the vet.

And then he left. 

He considered telling her who he was. 

But he knew what happened when he trusted.

Age: 11

Sly is woken up by Greg shaking him. 

"Hey. Kid."

Sly rolls over his head to land on his feet in one smooth motion, his eyes still blinking away the sleep he was in seconds ago.

"People are looking for you." Greg. A... Scruffy would be generous, to describe the mess of stained clothes, and overgrown beard that made up Greg's appearance.

But Sly was inclined to be generous in his mental descriptions of the man. Greg had been helping him live on the street for the last 15 months. He was a kind man. 

Greg looks over his shoulder, worry on his face. He grabs his bag, pausing for a moment to take his revolver out, and load it with the bullets mixed in with the rest of their supplies. 

Sly stands anxiously, his ears twitch under his hood. He frowns. He can hear sirens Greg gestures for him to follow as he starts to run, carrying their pack. 

----------

They run for a long time. Sly's feet starts to ache. Greg had a plan for this. Places to hide if they needed to hide from the police. Places that Sly could hide with Greg, and places where Sly could hide alone. 

"You're slowing me down. You'll need to hide up here. We got an hour till dark. No way they can track you then. Plenty of time to get away." Greg huffs out.

Sly looks up at Greg. 

He's lying. Why is he lying?

Sly shakes it off.

Greg's smart, if he thinks this is a good idea, it's a good idea. 

They head down an ally next to an abandoned house. Greg kept an emergency stash hidden behind a few loose bricks here. 

Greg pulls at the bricks. His energy frantic. Sly reaches to try and help, but his arms are too short.

Siren's are getting closer. A block over. Greg moves the last brick, grabbing the bag out, then lifting Sly up. 

It was a tight fit. But Sly was always good at tight fits, his body shifting and flexing almost liquidly. 

"Okay. Kid. You're going to stay here until you can't hear anything."

Greg puts several of the bricks back, enclosing Sly. 

Sly looks out at Greg. Worried. Greg reaches in and ruffles his hair.

"Just.... Remember what I taught you okay Sly?"

By the time Sly has his mouth open to reply the last brick is placed back. 

The sirens are so loud. They hurt Sly's ears. He can hear Greg running. 

"Freeze! Hands in the air!"

Half a second after, there is a gunshot
BANG
and a cry of pain. Greg's voice.

Then the sounds of many men. Some shouting, as they surround Greg. 

"I was dropping my gun asshole! Fuck! I'm going to need surgery."

"And we can get that for you Mr. Quinten." The voice is smooth. To calm. It resonates through Sly. Familiar.

"Good doctors. Maybe a shelter. Along with some monetary compensation ... You were with a boy. Tell us where he is, and we can have an ambulance here in 5 minutes."

There is a pause. For a moment Sly's heart drops, and then.

"Why don't you go and fuck yourself? This is abuse! I demand a lawyer, this is a violation of my ... "
BANG

Greg goes quiet.

Sly stays quiet. 

"Sources say the boy was close. He can't be far. Sweep the area, set up a perimeter. We have the police occupied for the next 2 hours. We need to use that time well."

The voice speaks smoothly. Calmly, and resonating. 

The footsteps move. 

Sly stays still. 

Greg trusted this hiding space. It is a good hiding space. He trusts Greg to keep him safe.

Well. Trusted.

Sly swallows.

I don't know that. Maybe... Maybe he is just scared. The gun shot was to scare him maybe.

Sly shivers. He thinks of many more lies to tell himself while he listens to the footsteps leave. 

Then he waits. Patience is important. Greg always said that when things are moving fast, moving slow and smart is faster than moving fast but dumb.

So he listens. And finally hears the footsteps of the man with the resonating voice walk away.

Sly pushes out the bricks, catching them after, to stop them from making a noise.

Then he jumps down, spreading out his weight so he can land softly. 

He looks over at where Greg was. There is blood. A body.


No. NONONO!

Sly runs over to Greg. His eyes are open, looking up at the evening sky. One of his hands is splayed out to the side, reaching for a large dumpster. 

Sly doesn't know what to do. 

He wraps some cloth around the hole in Greg's neck. He hits Greg's chest, knowing that medics do that sometimes. 

Then he kneels, bloodying his pants as he tries hard not to cry.

There is a shout. 

Sly jumps to his feet.

He's been spotted!

He looks around. His eye's catch a gleam of silver under the dumpster. Greg's gun.

The shouting increases in volume as Sly dashes under the dumpster, grabbing the gun... and finding a sewer grate. 

Already openned, near the edge of the Dumpster... A planned escape route.

Sly slips inside, then slides down the later.

It is dark in the sewer. It is dark, and Sly is alone.

But that is nothing new for him.