The Takedown
by Shauna Checkley
Miracle sat in the yard close to the spot by the tall fence where she had last seen the pigeon land. Her amber eyes were wide. Her whiskers occasionally twitched. Kneading her paws in the dirt, she was ready.
Miracle heard a cry from across the prison yard. Turning to look, she saw her beloved Valentine being roughed up by a girl gang, the Creamsicles, clad in their prison-issue orange jumpsuits. One of the tough bitches slapped Valentine and another pushed her to the ground. Miracle had seen worse, though, especially when they would follow her into the shower, make her do unspeakable things while cornered in a stall.
Enough.
Miracle knew if she could ever just morph, shape shift into a huge tiger instead of her eight-pound self, she would take care of the Creamsicles. Those bitches were the ones who fed Valentine her dope, fueled and drove her addiction after all. She felt her passion and conviction grow. Still, there was the scene at hand to consider.
Luckily, though, the Creamsicles moved on. They went and shot hoops instead.
Miracle bounded across the yard to check on her girl Valentine.
“Here kitty, kitty,” Valentine called.
The calico cat rubbed against her, purred. Seeing the red handprint on Valentine’s cheek, Miracle licked it gently.
Valentine was her favorite inmate at Ridgemont Correctional Center for Women or “the Bucket,” as it was more commonly known. She was her angel in ruins, trashed goddess with her blonde eyelashes and haunted, faraway blue eyes. Though Valentine had a tragic aura about her, the feline never did know the full story but assumed it to be a dark, cautionary tale.
As gossip makes its rounds in jail just like recycled meatloaf, Miracle had learned this much, however: that the girl had grown up in the foster care system and began using and resorting to crime to maintain her habit, even defrauding a casino where she worked. But that was as far as life stories went.
Mine isn’t a helluva lot different either. We’re both strays as far as I can tell.
Miracle was pet therapy at the women’s jail, a fairly new program. She was immediately christened “Miracle” as she was rescued from a snowbank by a crazy cat lady prison guard who begged the warden to initiate the program and thus give the calico a job there. That had been two brutal winters ago.
Miracle loved her job and was good at it, spreading comfort and delight everywhere she went. Yet she had a special affection for the young, vulnerable Valentine. The cat could sense there was something different and needy about the young woman. She wasn’t as rough around the edges as the others were, nor did she possess their coldness. The cat was as protective of her as she would be of any kit.
Seeing that her charge was alright, Miracle padded back to the far wall. She crouched down and lay in wait. Gotta get it... Gotta take down the dope pigeon.
Feeling the breeze tickle her ears, Miracle enjoyed the sensation. She also loved it when sunlight warmed her white whiskers. But she knew not to get too comfortable; the dope pigeon would likely be right along. She had watched it all play out many times before, even as the guards failed to notice or pretended to look the other way.
The Creamsicles exited the basketball court and headed to where Miracle was stationed, which made Miracle even more suspicious and watchful. But she just played the cool cat as always. She lay down and waited. She kept her amber eyes peeled for the bird.
Finally, Miracle saw it flying in the near distance towards the prison wall. It landed on top of the wall, straddling some barb wire. As ever, it was wearing its little red backpack filled with meth.
One of the Creamsicles whistled at it, and it lifted off the wall and began flying down to her.
Miracle sprang and soared like an Olympic pole vaulter. As rhythmic and predictable as a haiku, she floated, lilted, in mid-air. She picked the pigeon off. She snatched the red backpack in her mouth and fled with it.
The Creamsicles yelled and shook their fists. Several chased Miracle. But she ran deep into the prison with the booty. Gotta take this to the warden. Or dump it down the shitter.
The pigeon flew off unharmed.
Watching it all go down, Valentine smiled that Mona Lisa-like smile of hers. She felt curiously relieved. Thank you, Miracle, it’s so hard to get off of that shit. I can really use the help.
As the Creamsicles came unglued, racing and chasing about, Valentine laughed quietly into her hand. She even began to enjoy the warm summer day.
Copyright © 2023 by Shauna Checkley
