Rosie 1: Abandoned
Rosie looked up hopefully at the door. They’d return any moment now, as they did every day. Whenever they left, they always came back; within an hour, at the end of the day, sometimes even multiple days after leaving, they always returned.
Yet this was the longest they’d ever been gone.
Sanders approached. Rosie acknowledged him before looking straight back to the door. Something briefly caught Sanders’ attention as he sauntered over with his usual slow prowl, before he walked up to Rosie and ran his cheek against her arm. She enjoyed her roommate’s affection, but couldn’t move her attention from the door for very long. If she did, she might miss their return. Julie’s return.
Sanders circled and lay next to her, not expecting the door to open as much as he enjoyed Rosie’s company and, being much larger than he, her warmth.
Rosie eventually stirred with a small whine. She leaned down to sniff and lick Sanders’ grey, patterned head head beside her, a stark contrast to her golden fur. They’d spent enough of the morning waiting.
Sanders was bounding through the halls in an instant, Rosie following calmly behind. The house was theirs and Sanders made the most of it, darting across floorboards, relaxing or playing in any room for as long as he wanted.
Rosie was accustomed to simpler comforts. Her bed, just big enough for her, held many memories associated with its scent, drawing her to it any time of the day. Sometimes she’d play with Sanders, though he’d always been much more agile than her. His energy confused her even more lately, since Rosie had been losing motivation to exert herself.
Intuiting this part of their daily routine had arrived, they met in the kitchen. Sanders rubbed his cheek against Rosie once before leaping up onto the kitchen counter. He’d have been scolded if the others were here—except Julie, who would gently return him to the floor.
Sometimes Rosie yelled at Sanders to get down before anyone noticed. After a few days alone, she’d given up. Their family had left the kitchen window open before leaving, after all, which they’d never done before.
She waited for Sanders to bound over the half-opened glass. Rosie took his exit as confirmation and went to the other door that lead to the outside world. Their family almost never used this door, so there was no reason to wait here for their return. It was only Rosie’s way of leaving or returning, a flap perfectly accommodated to her size in the larger frame.
Outside, rather than running excitedly through the small yard—as she would with Julie—Rosie sat. Sanders had always refused to use the flap, the kitchen window his preference.
Rosie only sat for a moment before Sanders turned the corner into sight to embark on their daily scavenge.
They’d exhausted the food their family had provided some time ago. They’d never done that before, either, piling Rosie and Sanders’s bowls as high as they could and leaving the large bags open to be consumed as they pleased.
When the supply had been drained, they’d spent two days inside the house without food before working up the courage to leave. They were trained not to eat all at once, so it had lasted a reasonable duration; that only further reminded Rosie how long it had been since the others, since Julie, had left.
Sanders, smaller and more agile, ran ahead on the road. He periodically paused to survey their surroundings, though nothing had changed for a long time. The streets were empty and silent, no one walking on the sidewalks, no driving cars to avoid, no distant sounds of traffic, no voices or laughter or yelling coming from inside the homes around theirs. Windows were dark, lawns overgrown with weeds, some doors hanging open while others had been closed permanently. Leaves and trash blowing was the only constant movement anymore, disturbed now and then by others like Rosie and Sanders.
When small, flying creatures squawked overhead, Sanders would watch, hungry and excited, just out of reach. Sometimes they’d see other creatures like them. Smaller ones like Sanders would spot them from a distance and disappearing before Rosie could hope to follow. Less often, those closer to Rosie’s appearance briefly interacted from a distance, all parties smart enough to steer clear of each other. Some part of them understood they were all in the same situation; their families had left them, too, and they were all searching for their own meals.
Rosie smelled something first today, only giving Sanders a quick glance before running ahead.
The source was another house down the street, wafting from an open window, tangy and salty and tasty in her nostrils. The only problem was the window, too far from the ground to jump through.
Sanders barely acknowledged her before jumping up to the window. He disappeared into the house, leaving Rosie whining, envious of his agility, and settling into the grass.
When Sanders’ head popped up at the window, Rosie stood and leaned on the wall to try and reach him, but her nose barely peaked the windowsill.
She didn’t have to get inside; Sanders turned back to carry something in his teeth. The scent Rosie had first caught strengthened, making her stomach growl, and Sanders pulled a can over the windowsill to drop to the grass.
Rosie dropped, too, sniffing the can once before lapping at the contents. It was old, stale, but she gave no notice, only eagerly enjoying the food. She paused once to look up at the window, wondering if Sanders would join her, but he’d disappeared into the house again.
Sanders prowled through the house; abandoned, like theirs.
The can he’d given to Rosie was the only open one he’d found. It didn’t matter; she could enjoy it. Initially, they’d both smelled the same can, but once Sanders had entered the house, he’d found an entirely different scent Rosie hadn’t detected.
He checked each room for the source; it hung in every room equally, difficult to trace. Only after walking up and down the same hallway did he pinpoint the scent coming from the crack beneath a closed door.
Though closed, Sanders had experience with these mechanisms. If it was locked he’d be in trouble. With a silent pounce he hooked an arm around the handle, pulling with his weight as he fell. He tried a few times before the handle clicked and the door opened. The smell hit him like a wall through the gap.
He slid through to a set of stairs descending into darkness. Enough light crept into the room from behind for Sanders move down each step.
It was cold at the bottom. The small underground room was almost empty, only a few shelves and cupboards along the walls. He crossed the concrete, the stench overwhelming in the enclosed space, as if the air itself. He searched the corners of the room, each darker than the next, before landing on something at the furthest wall. By instinct he froze to raise his back in caution, recognising the source of the stench.
A large bag was ripped open, half of it torn into smaller pieces beside it. If Sanders focused, he could identify a hint of the bag’s smell, similar to the can he’d fetched for Rosie, but it was immensely overpowered by the stench wafting from beside it.
It didn’t move, spurring Sanders to get closer, low to the ground, each step methodically placed. It looked like Rosie; different, but one of her kind. Most of them only angered or frightened Sanders; he and Rosie only got along because of trust built over years living together; there was no reason to trust any other of the larger creatures. Unless, like this one, it made no movements, not even its belly rising and falling with breaths.
It lay on its side, legs away from it. It wouldn’t move; couldn’t. Its head lay on the concrete, open eyes looking at nothing, tongue hanging from its slackened jaw. Several spots on its belly had been opened in small slits, fur caked in dark red around each wound. Whatever had done it to the creature was long gone.
He approached the motionless body, sniffing with each step until he was right next to it, each sniff flooding all his senses as if swimming through water. The wounds smelled strongest, but the thing itself was the source. It reminded him of the meals he’d missed, forced to scavenge for longer than ever before. Packets, cans like the one he’d given to Rosie, or bags like the one now beside him were what he was used to, but since their family had left—and sometimes before—he’d stalked and pounced on several unsuspecting smaller creatures; ones that squeaked beneath his grip, ones that floated into the air out of reach when startled. Fresh meals were his favourite, but the most difficult to attain.
Here was one right in front of him.
It smelled different than others he’d caught himself, but still shared great similarity. A meal was a meal, and Sanders had given an entire can to Rosie expecting to find something like this.
His stomach ached to be filled, smells overtook his awareness, and the difficulty in finding something else soon was all he needed to know.
Sanders ate.
Rosie whined and stood against the wall, her nose at the windowsill. Sanders had been inside for a while; she’d almost finished the entire can. She yelled for him a few times, her training stopping her from doing it constantly.
He appeared a while later, licking his lips, surveying from his vantage point above Rosie. When he jumped down from the window he rubbed against Rosie, quieting her whines. He ignored the can, though Rosie had left only scraps anyway.
They’d yet to meet any severe danger on their daily scavenges, but the pair were still vigilant of their surroundings the entire walk home. Part of their routine was to not let anything sneak up on them; they’d only relax when they returned.
Rosie pushed through her door flap while Sanders went around to the kitchen window. They acknowledged each other in the kitchen before Sanders disappeared into the house and Rosie sat at the front door. Julie and the others would be back any moment now.
Morning sunlight through the window warmed Rosie awake. She’d waited by the door for a long time, only crawling to bed when the house was dark. The walled cushion’s comforting scent was the only place she could sleep, easing the pain of another day without Julie.
Unfortunately, it did nothing for the ache in her belly.
She searched room to room for Sanders, even glancing in the room they were never supposed to enter; their oldest family member’s room. Confused, Rosie spotted Sanders from the doorway crouched under the bed. She whined for him to come out; even if no one was there to tell him off, they still weren’t allowed in the room.
Sanders didn’t move, eyes glowing in the darkness, on all fours and belly against the ground. His only response was to watch Rosie.
Growing more nervous, Rosie reluctantly crossed the threshold into the bedroom. She’d be quick; getting Sanders and leaving.
When she neared the bed, Sanders groaned, long and deep through his closed mouth. He seemed not to have exerted much force, but the complaint stopped Rosie. She hadn’t heard Sanders make such a sound for a long time, especially not towards her.
She froze for a curious moment before lying on the carpet. She’d only fit under the bed if she scooted on her belly, so she waited at the edge, inching her face closer to Sanders, sniffing. If she was close enough, he’d recognise her and not need to groan at her.
Yet, he did, though gentler this time, before blinking slowly at her.
Rosie whined again, flopping onto her side, head still near him. If he’d stay under here and complain, she’d stay, too. They needed to look for food together, after all.
When Sanders finally moved, Rosie had waited so long she almost fell back asleep. He carefully stood, groaning, and moved to the door, not with his usual slow saunter—proud and confident—but uncomfortable and cautious. Rosie stood to follow once he was out of the room.
When Rosie leaned down to sniff him in the hallway she was met with another long groan, so she didn’t touch him, but still followed alongside.
In the kitchen, Rosie waited for him to approach the bench before moving to her door flap. She sat and watched him, waiting for him to jump to the counter and out the window, but he hadn’t moved, looking up at the bench.
He sat in the same balled-up position as under the bed and groaned when she approached, though without much enthusiasm. She jumped up to lean her arms on the edge of the counter, showing him it wasn’t a difficult distance away, but he only slowly blinked and looked away.
She dropped and lay down beside him. His complaints continued, but quiet enough Rosie could ignore them. She licked his head, unsure why he wouldn’t jump to the counter. He couldn’t be full; Rosie had eaten the can he’d given her yesterday, and she was already hungry again.
Sanders wouldn’t move, only groan and look between Rosie, the bench, the window. When he looked at the water bowl across the room—it had been empty for a while—Rosie wondered if that’s why he wouldn’t leave.
She left him to go to the bathroom, more water bowls scattered across the floor. They, too, were all empty now, but the bathtub was still about half full from when Julie had filled it before she and the others had left.
Rosie picked up one of the bowls between her teeth. It took several attempts to get the right grip, and several more to dip it into the bathtub to fill it; even more tries to walk with the bowl between her teeth without spilling most of the contents out with each step.
Eventually, using all her concentration, Rosie figured out the best method of scooping and walking, her head tilted slightly sideways, her steps careful and slow.
Even despite her efforts, by the time she reached the kitchen again, a trail of puddles followed her through the hallway, and even more spilled when she carefully put it down on the tiles. Thankfully, a thin layer of water remained in the bowl.
Sanders, who’d only moved to face the door where she’d left and returned, finally stood. He approached with the same uncomfortable gait and sniffed the bowl before dipping towards it and drinking.
Rosie lay beside him, groaning again, even while he drank. She ignored it, and when he’d drained the bowl, he sat back into his balled position and slowly blinked at Rosie.
She didn’t know what was wrong with him, but she did know she was hungry; he likely was, too. If he wouldn’t leave to find food, she could go on her own and find something for them both.
Rosie walked up and down the streets surrounding their home, desperate to catch the scent of anything resembling food. Getting back to Sanders with something edible was all that mattered, but all she’d found so far had been locked behind doors, windows, gates or fences, or too far to jump.
Down a street she and Sanders had never searched before, she heard something faint. Rosie stopped and looked at the closest house; indistinct from the rest, except for the muffled yells coming from its direction.
She paused halfway through the front garden and listened before circling the house to find the culprit; in a window high above the ground, a face appeared, studying her as intently as she did it.
It was like her, a little smaller, black and white, panting with excitement. The window was too high to reach; Rosie sat, looking back at the stranger.
It yelled, without aggression, a few more times before disappearing. Rosie waited until the yelling started from somewhere else inside the house and followed the noise around the perimeter, there discovering the problem.
In a larger door was a flap just like her own, with a large bin pushed right up against it. From inside, the other one pushed against the flap a few times, but couldn’t move the bin enough to fit through the flap. It yelled a few more times, hoping Rosie understood its issue.
Despite needing to quickly find food and return to Sanders, Rosie paused. She couldn’t imagine being trapped inside her house for as long as Julie and the others had been gone.
She stood and leaned against the bin, her arms nearly reaching the lid, and pushed, but the container’s contents greatly weighed it down. She pushed a few more times to rock the bin, not enough to move it clear of the flap.
A sudden loud bang shook the bin beneath Rosie’s arms.
She dropped and inside, he yelled—Rosie could smell him better now. He charged the flap to hit against the bin with all his strength and speed through the flap.
Rosie understood; she ran back across the yard, turned, and charged at the bin herself. Jumping and crashing against it with all her weight barely moved the heavy barrier—but it had shifted. A sliver of the flap was exposed, the yelling from inside much clearer.
Rosie ran back and charged the bin a few more times, the one inside doing the same against the flap, his excited yelling spurring Rosie on. Finally, after a number of tries, the bin, heavier than any Rosie had even encountered, had pivoted enough to let the one inside squeeze through the half-open flap.
He yelled with joy and playfully pounced at Rosie, jumping and spinning with excitement and gratitude before running in circles through the yard. Rosie watched, satisfied she’d been able to help, before a scent hit her nose. She turned, following it to the now cleared door flap. Too small to fit through the gap--the smaller one running around the yard had barely been able to squeeze through—she poked her nose through and whined, the alluring scent of food so close but still out of reach.
A quiet shout beside her turned her head. The other watched her, head cocked to the side, before seeming to figure something out. He ran past her and squeezed through the half-exposed flap while Rosie continued to whine, frustrated she couldn’t follow.
The smell of food suddenly grew stronger, and a moment later she moved aside to allow the other to come back through the flap. Tail wagging, he stood before her before dropping something from his mouth, panting excitedly.
Rosie resisted the urge to immediately pounce at the packet, instead slowly leaning towards it to sniff—it was barely torn open, some of its juices leaking, causing Rosie to salivate. He noticed Rosie’s apprehension and yelled, pushing the packet towards her, watching her expectantly.
Rosie yelled herself, one small grateful exclamation, before picking up the packet in her teeth. It took all her will not to chomp it down, but Sanders’ sickness was more important.
She and the one she’d freed shared a brief friendly exchange, learning each other’s scents while swapping grateful whimpers, before Rosie departed for home.
---
She panted through her door flap, hoping to find Sanders still in the kitchen, but he’d moved. She whined through the house until finding him in the bathroom.
Laying down, slightly more relaxed than earlier, Sanders seemed to have moved for more water. All the bowls in the bathroom were empty, and, like with the kitchen counter, he appeared unwilling or unable to jump to the edge of the bathtub.
Rosie ignored his gentle groan when she entered. She chewed the soft packet, opening up a few more holes, juices coating her tongue. It tasted good, even better given her hunger, but she ignored it and dropped the packet for Sanders, enough of it torn open to access.
He sniffed it, only moving his head, but made no move to eat. Perhaps he needed water first.
Rosie gripped one of the bowls between her teeth and dipped it into the bath water. The process was easier now that she’d had practice, though it still took a while. Sanders watched until she managed to place the bowl, still relatively filled, beside him. He looked at it without moving, so Rosie pushed it to him with her nose.
He finally drank, licking the water while Rosie looked between him and the ripped open packet of food, its scent filling her nostrils. He’d never know how she’d gotten the meal, only that she’d resisted eating it herself for him. While Sanders focused on the water, Rosie licked at the packet, careful to taste only a small amount until Sanders was finished drinking.
He licked his lips and closed his eyes, as if exhausted. He made no move to eat; even when Rosie pushed it right up beside the bowl, he ignored the food.
Without much else to do, Rosie walked up behind Sanders and lay down next to him on the cold tiles. He groaned with the movement, her fur against his, but relaxed when she settled. She rested her head on her arms in front of her, tilting her head to watch him. His eyes were still closed, but he seemed a little better as he relaxed against her belly.
They napped throughout the day; when Rosie woke it was dark in the bathroom, and Sanders had vanished with the light.
She stood and sniffed at the food packet, none of it eaten. She followed his scent through the house to a bedroom—Julie’s bedroom—accompanied by another unappealing smell that grew stronger inside the room.
In a corner, Sanders was again in his balled-up position on the floorboards and watched her as she came closer. Beside him was a small foul-smelling puddle. Rosie had seen and smelled something similar before; it had come from Sanders’ mouth. Julie had taken him away from the house that day, and when she’d returned with him, he’d been similarly annoyed and uncomfortable.
Rosie couldn’t imagine Sanders enjoyed being so close to the stench of the puddle—he hadn’t last time—so she carefully tried to nudge him away from it. His only resistance was another groan, though much weaker than earlier. Sanders taking a few careful steps between sliding across the floorboards under Rosie’s careful pushing. Whatever was wrong with him, it didn’t seem to be any better.
She lay next to him and licked his head, unsure how else to help. She curled up around him again and he relaxed into her belly, as they’d slept in the bathroom. Neither moved, Sanders out of discomfort and Rosie not wanting to disturb him, while the dark room filled with his heavy, laboured breathing.
When Rosie was half asleep with him against her, another sound penetrated the air.
Sanders’ entire body tensed as he choked, forcing a painful series of exhales. Rosie sat up and watched, unable to do much while his gagging grew stronger and stronger, eventually ending with him retching up the same liquid she’d found earlier. The stench was overpowering, but Rosie waited until Sanders stopped, a thick, acidic puddle beneath him, yellow-green and streaked with red.
Despite the horrid smell, Sanders stayed close to the puddle. Rosie couldn’t imagine he enjoyed it, and was more likely too uncomfortable to move himself. She stood over him and licked his head and the back of his neck, then carefully closed her jaw on the skin there.
He grumbled in protest, even weaker again, but otherwise relaxed under her grip as she carefully pulled him away from the puddle, dragging him across the floorboards.
She released him and he settled back into his balled position, clear of the mess. They lay back down together, Sanders relaxed against her belly, but lying on the cold floorboards in the dark didn’t seem like enough, and eventually, an idea came to her.
She carefully stood, not wanting to disturb Sanders, and left the room.
She returned a few minutes later, dragging her idea behind her. Whenever she felt uncomfortable or missed Julie and the rest of their family, Rosie had found some comfort in the old scents and memories connected with her bed. The large, round, walled cushion was old, covered in fur and dotted with holes and tears, but it still provided greater comfort than anything else Rosie could think of.
She pulled it across Julie’s room to Sanders, stopping beside him. He’d again retched up more of the vile liquid while Rosie had been gone, so she moved the bed across the room, then carefully gripped behind Sanders’ neck again to move him. She didn’t expect he’d climb into the bed on his own either, so she gently lifted him onto the pillow, his feet dragging behind as she did.
She released Sanders to settle into the much softer surface than the wooden floorboards. Even though it was her bed, and the pleasantness associated with it was hers, perhaps it could make Sanders’ ailment a little easier to bear, as well.
She let him have the bed, lying on the wood with only her head settled on the cushion facing Sanders. He looked at her, her head half as big as his body resting in front of him, and slowly blinked at her a number of times, before eventually closing his eyes to sleep. Rosie watched him, listened to his rasping breathing for some time before she, too, fell asleep.
---
The morning sun peered through the window, a beam bathing patch of the floor and Rosie’s bed in a bright warmth. She lazily opened her eyes to Sanders, still asleep in the cushion, nestled into one of the walls.
Not wanting to disturb him—he probably needed the rest—Rosie stretched and headed for the bathroom. She sniffed at the food packet, open and half-eaten, and resisted the urge to eat it herself, instead taking it back to Julie’s room for Sanders. He hadn’t eaten all day yesterday; he’d be hungrier than her, and needed it more.
She returned to the room and dropped the packet on the bed beside him. He still slept, even when she stepped on the cushion to get the packet closer to him. She whined, trying to gently wake him to eat, but he ignored her and continued sleeping. She backed away and sat for a few moments, waiting for him to wake, before deciding there was something else she could do before he woke.
One trip to the bathroom later, she returned to the bed with another half-filled bowl, another trail of water behind her through the hallway. She set it down beside the bed, confident now that Sanders would wake to all he could want; food, water, and her company.
Still he slept.
Rosie waited for a long time, sitting beside her bed, expecting Sanders to lift his lazy head, yawn, look around and remember where he was. But he didn’t. He just slept.
With a few more careful whines, Rosie stepped onto the cushion, her weight shifting Sanders around a little, but he didn’t move, didn’t even groan as he had any time she’d gotten close to him yesterday. He lay silent; still.
Without any other ideas, Rosie gently nudged Sanders with her nose. He didn’t wake or move, didn’t react in any way at all. In fact, he was so still his belly wasn’t even moving with breath.
She nudged him more and more, no longer afraid of annoying him; she just wanted him to wake. She whined louder and louder while moving him, but he stayed in the bed, nestled into a crevice of the walled cushion, unresponsive. He looked much more peaceful than he had yesterday, but Rosie still wanted him to wake up.
She climbed into the bed and curled up beside him, sniffing and licking him, nestling him in her belly. He was so much smaller than she was, so easy to manoeuvre into what she hoped was a comfortable position—especially when he gave no resistance.
Rosie lay her head on the bed where she could watch him for even the slightest movement. The beam of sunlight from the window slid along the wall while Rosie lay with Sanders, whining for him to wake.
The sun eventually grew bright enough to fill the entire room with its warmth, but Sanders was cold against her.
Rosie only tore herself away when she was too thirsty not to drink. Leaving him was painful, as if it meant he really wouldn’t wake up again. It was even worse than when Rosie would leave the door after waiting all day for Julie and the others to return.
She stopped at the bedroom door to look back. Sanders was on the bed, looking comfortable and peaceful. She left the bowl of water and packet of food beside the bed where she’d placed them, just in case.
After drinking from the tub in the bathroom, Rosie went to the front door and sat, looking up at it once again. This wasn’t like the other times; now she really needed them.
There was nothing more she could do for Sanders, but she could wait here, for their family, for Julie to return, and then they would know what to do. Any time he or Rosie had been sick or in pain, they’d been there to help, even if it meant taking a trip to another place far from home, which Sanders had always hated.
Rosie would have to be here when Julie and the others returned to show them what had happened, to take them straight to Sanders and tell them she’d done all she could.
She whined at the door for a long time. She even went against all her training and yelled at the door. Where were they? Sanders needed them; she needed them. But they were gone.
As hours passed by, Rosie’s throat grew dry from yelling. She lay down, exhausted and defeated, looking up at the door that never moved—maybe would never move.
Maybe they weren’t coming back.
Sanders had probably figured it out a long time ago. They’d been gone for so long already, and if they weren’t going to return now, when Sanders needed them most, when would they? She whined for an answer, but none came.
Her belly ached with hunger; she needed food. She turned to look once back down the hallway towards Julie’s room, where the food packet still sat, but she couldn’t take it from Sanders. Even if he wouldn’t wake up to eat it, it was his. She’d given it to him, and he needed it more than her.
Instead, Rosie left the house through her door flap. She sat for a moment, instinctively waiting for Sanders’ grey, spotted head to appear around the corner. She wouldn’t see him again, she knew, unless she returned to Julie’s room. That was where he would stay, now, in comfort and peace in Rosie’s old bed.
She’d leave him there, but she couldn’t return herself. There was nothing there for her. Sanders wouldn’t wake, and her family wouldn’t return. Reluctantly, Rosie walked through the yard and to the empty street past it to find food, somewhere away from where her home, where her once blissful life had been tainted by newer memories.