Disclaimer: I share my house with three cats and I own them as much as I do the Numb3rs characters - so, if you know anything about cats, you know I can lay claim to nothing.

No spoilers or warnings

Summary: A little action, a little CWDA, and a little something different from an unusual point of view.

Sanctuary

~by MsGrahamCracker~

The aging cat rested quietly on her raised perch in the musty, cold room. Curled into a tight, furry circle, her paws were tucked underneath her and her nose was burrowed into the warmth of her body.

The room was large, dark and empty. Stripped of anything useful, it held only the refuge and unwanted remnants of the building's previous inhabitants. She knew nothing about them or what purpose the building had held for them; she was oblivious to all of that. She knew it only as the place she had spent her entire life; the place where she had given birth to five litters of kittens; the place where she knew, instinctively, she would die.

The building sheltered the feral colony she lived with, but, this room, in the center of the building, was her chosen territory, her haven, her sanctuary and the other cats had learned through intimidation and scent markings to leave it alone.

She was curled now, upon an old thread-bare blanket that had been left behind. Somehow, it had ended up on top of the tall cabinet in the corner and she had claimed it as her own. It was so thin she felt every splinter beneath her and when the wind blew through the cracks in the walls it didn't offer any protection from the chill, but it was hers. Her perch, high above everything else, provided not only the solitude she was seeking, it also gave her a sense of security and the position of regal observation she was entitled to.

She found herself here, quite often, at this time of day, when the sun was low in the sky and the golden beams that squeezed their way through the broken shutters warmed her blanket and, in turn, her aching joints. She was finding the older she got, the harder it was to get warm. She had been moving slowly today and was too late to catch the sun beams, but her blanket had retained a little of the day's heat and she burrowed into it.

She was still, her breaths slow and measured, her green eyes nothing but slits, giving the impression she was nearly asleep. She was content and a soft purr emanated from her.

She watched, with a lazy indifference, as a small mouse ventured cautiously out from behind an old book shelf. It scurried across the floor unaware of her gaze. Another day, another time and she would have had a quick tasty meal. Not today. Today, she was too tired for the chase. Her bones ached and the antics of the young toms in her colony had irritated her. She had spit and hissed, repeatedly, at them as they played around her, but they were wild and full of themselves and unafraid of her. She had slipped out and taken refuge here, hoping for a long quiet nap.

All such thoughts disappeared quickly when her whiskers suddenly detected the difference in the air movements around her, telling her something was moving close by – something larger than the mouse. She moved her ears, twitching them in several different directions in an effort to locate the danger. She was alert and wary, knowing they were there long before the two intruders entered the room.

She remained still - invisible - as she watched them enter her domain. The first one stumbled in as if he had been nudged or pushed in some way. He was weak and unsteady, and she watched, impassively, as he lurched forward, nearly falling, before he righted himself to turn and face the other one at the doorway. The creature filling the entrance was much larger and he moved in with a lumbering, heavy gait. The tension and danger hung heavy in the air and she responded to it with a low, quiet growl. She pulled her ears back against the side of her head, and her eyes, wide open now and alert, pierced the darkness with uncanny ability.

Life on the streets had taught her to be wary of these creatures that walked upright. She, herself, had witnessed acts of enormous cruelty from others like them, both to their own kind and hers. They were strange, ugly things, in her opinion; large, ungainly bodies, void of any cat-like reflexes, with hardly any whiskers or fur. Some only had patches of solid-colored fur on the top of their heads, others had none at all; not like her luxurious full charcoal and white coat.

She watched the two of them from her hidden vantage point; one clearly the prey, the other the predator. The prey, as is often the case, was the smaller of the two. Shoved into the room first, he caught her attention right away. The area of fur on top of his head was wild, curly and untamed. She saw that he was injured; blood ran freely from his head and several other areas of his body. He was bent forward, breathing heavily, while bloody spittle trailed to the floor from his mouth. When he moved she noticed a pronounced limp. His eyes were wide, afraid and filled with pain but she saw the flare of anger, as well. He straighten his body, slowly, painfully and faced his attacker. He was not ready to submit.

This she understood. She knew violence; she knew survival. She, herself, had been both predator and prey; the hunter and the hunted. She had fought much larger foe than herself, protecting her litters or her territory. She knew the will to survive was strong in this one, but, sometimes, as she had seen too often, it wasn't enough.

The larger one moved in swiftly. Driven by an anger or need she would never understand, his attack was brutal and relentless. The force of the blows to the prey's head and midsection were powerful and deadly, driving him backwards, towards her and her hidden perch. The helpless victim tried to fight back, but his attempt was weak and ineffective, as the small gray mouse might have fought off her attack had she been inclined to kill it.

It was the cycle of life; the strong survived, the weak perished. But she was tired and achy today, and she wasn't in the mood to have it happen in her place.

She hissed, as they drew closer, baring her still formidable teeth, telling them she was here first and she had no intention of leaving, but she was ignored.

The struggle went on, unabated, violent and barbaric. Unsettled and frightened, she watched the hunter brutalize and torture his victim. It was his eyes, she decided, that disturbed her. They were ruthless and alive with excitement – they bore no hatred, no anger or purpose other than the death of his prey. This one, the cat decided, was not killing his opponent for survival; he was not establishing his territory or setting boundaries; this animal was killing for the fun of it.

In the presence of such primitive evil, she cowered as low as she could on her blanket and gauged the distance to the open doorway behind him. Could she make it? She was not a fast as she used to be, but with such a creature behind her, she knew she would be motivated.

Before she could muster her courage, though, the doorway was filled again with yet another invader. Her fear escalated. She could not escape two of them.

She studied the new one, judging his intent, then relaxed when her senses told her this one was neither predator nor prey. His dark eyes blazed with undisguised anger and rage when a blow from the hunter forced the weakened prey to the floor. She saw the anguish in his eyes, as well, as he risked a quick glance at the smaller one. His stance, his visible distress, his barely controlled anger told her he was clearly a defender – a guardian – a protector.

If the other one was like the diminutive gray mouse fighting off an attack, this one was like the giant, desperate rat that was cornered; ferocious, savage, resolute and angry. She saw the fury in his dark eyes - they were hard, cold.

The cat knew that she was superior to many species, including this one, but she saw in this intruder, this protector, that his senses rivaled her own – that in that brief instant he had collected and processed vital information about the room and it's occupants; that he was blocking the only entrance or exit, the rough hard wood flooring that was split and broken and could hamper an escape, the size and potential threat of it's adversary, the condition and location of the prey, even the sun beams she enjoyed and how they might affect sight.

He was pointing a dark, solid object at the two opponents and communicating with them in their discordant language, loudly and angrily.

The large hunter responded by pulling the mouse up by his curly fur, eliciting a painful yelp from his victim. He brought him back and held him close to his large body, his forearm tight around his neck. She saw the protector's eyes narrow and darken, his lips disappearing into a thin, hard line. He moved forward, still pointing the dark object at him.

The creature and his victim moved as one, backing away from the protector, who continued to press forward.

Suddenly, the doorway was filled with more invaders, all holding similar objects pointed at the predator, and the noise in the small room increased to a level the cat had never heard. They were loud, all of them vocalizing in shrieking, yelping tones. She sat, hunched low in her corner, her ears flat, her whiskers back, watching as the hunter and his injured prey backed away from the noisy horde and closer to her.

Being in the midst of this battle that had nothing to do with her, triggered both her survival instinct and her temper. She wanted them all to go away and leave her alone. This was her place, her blanket, her sanctuary and they were getting too close. She stood up and arched her back, fluffing the fur along her spine and tail in an effort to make herself look larger. She bared her teeth again, her canines showing prominently, and gave her most threatening hiss, but, once again, no one paid any attention to her.

When the hunter and the mouse were within striking distance she gave them a final warning. She spit and snarled and hissed, striking out with her front paw, her claws fully extended.

The hunter finally turned and gave her a cursory glance, then, surprisingly, reached towards her. Hissing again, she sidestepped away from his touch and struck out with both front paws. Her claws scraped across his skin and he yowled, angrily. She was surprised, once more, when he reached in again and she realized it was her blanket he wanted. He yanked it out from under her, sending her skidding across the cabinet top. From her position, she saw the protector move quickly towards them, taking advantage of the distraction, then stop instantly when the hunter wrapped her blanket around the neck of the mouse and pulled tightly.

The weak and exhausted prey struggled, trying to breath. He clutched, frantically, with bloody hands, at the blanket around his throat, trying to pull it away. She watched his face change shades and his eyes grow wide, then flutter. Strange, gasping, desperate noises came from him and he began to sink slowly to the floor.

Her keen senses told her the protector and his pack had no reason to hold back now. If they were to save this little mouse, they had to move now.

The prey's struggles had weakend and the hunter easily dragged him backwards with him, as the others surged forward, until his back hit the corner of the cabinet she was on.

The cat had never felt such terror before. They were all rushing towards her, loud and angry. Feeling threatened, she reacted instinctively. Her ears went back, her whiskers straight out. She crouched down low, her chin almost touching the floor and shifted from one foot to another while her hind quarters wiggled back and forth.

The large predator, clearly her greatest threat, was still pressed against the cabinet. She pounced.

Her sleek body stretched forward in a graceful leap through the air, her claws fully extended and aimed at the hunter's back. As she landed, her back claws dug in for purchase, piercing his skin along his spine while her front claws stabbed into his shoulder and the back of his neck. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and sunk her teeth into his ear. He shrieked in pain, let go of the mouse, and grabbed frantically for her, trying to dislodge her. Anticipating that, she quickly scrambled up his body and over his shoulder, eliciting another scream as all four sets of claws dug deeply into his upper chest. The cat, obeying centuries of hunting instinct, moved in for the kill bite, sinking her teeth into the tender skin on his neck. In a natural prey, a bird or a mouse, her teeth would have severed the spinal cord causing instantaneous and merciful death. In an animal this large, the best she could hope for was to inflict as much damage as she could; enough for her to escape. It worked. She maintained her hold on his neck until the horde drew close enough to spit on, then relaxed her jaw muscles, released him and jumped aside.

She flew across the room, zig-zagging between the rushing feet of the other invaders and leaped onto the old, frayed drapes at the windows. She clawed her way to the top and propelled herself through the air, once again, to an open beam, exposed when the drop ceiling had given way two years ago.

From her secure vantage point she watched the activity below. She knew her attack had not killed the hunter and she watched, impassively, as two of the intruders tried to help him. She saw the protector sitting on the cold floor, holding the smaller prey against his body, his voice soft and soothing now, and she watched the wounded one reach out weakly towards the guardian. He was alive.

The cat continued to watch while the area became filled with still more invaders; she watched as both the hunter and his victim were taken away; she watched, unsettled, as every inch of her room was searched or inspected; she watched until one them lifted her blanket and dropped it into a clear bag and disappeared through the door, taking it with him – then she turned and slipped into the darkness.

Twice it got dark and light again before the cat ventured into the room once more. There were several unfamiliar scents, but she had no trouble isolating those of the predator. His scent, his taste, would stay with her.

She was cold again today and had returned to her place, her sanctuary, in the hopes that the sun had found its way to her perch. She leaped onto a chair, then to the table and finally to the top of the cabinet. She stopped. There was something new ... a strange, light colored, opened, box-shaped object. She dropped low, immediately suspicious, stretching herself forward, hesitantly, and drew closer to it. She held her ears up, facing forward and her whiskers were out, inquisitive. She smelled it, every inch of it, completely and thoroughly. Sensing no danger from it and being curious, she stepped over the edge and sank into its softness. The sides and back were high and she knew, instinctively, that if she were laying down in it, she would be warm and protected from the cold wind. She liked the feel of it and couldn't stop herself from kneading it, pressing her sensitive paws pads into its soothing, squishy surface.

Suddenly sensing something different in the air, she stopped and her eyes flicked to the open doorway.

He was there again; the dark-eyed one; the protector. He was leaning against the door frame, watching her and she eyed him warily. He didn't move, he made no threatening moves towards her and after a few minutes she allowed herself to relax, kneading the softness of the new, luxurious cat bed once more.

A moment later she felt a slight movement and raised her head towards the door. He was standing up now. Their eyes connected, his dark to her green, and the corners of his mouth curled up a little. He nodded his head slightly towards her then turned and walked away.

She raised one paw and ran her rough tongue over it, then wiped it several times across her face. When she was done with her simple grooming, she turned around once in the cat bed. She stretched her sleek body out, her front legs out onto the splintered wood again and extended until her upper body was nearly flat on the floor, her hind quarters, still in the cat bed, raised high in the air. It felt good. She lowered her body into the lush comfort again, curling her legs under her, and relaxed. She was warm and comfortable and content, and she purred softly and closed her eyes..

A/N; When I began this story and typed the disclaimer, I did indeed share my house with three cats. I used two of them as models for this story. My 14 year old, Duchess, spends her day either stretched out on top of the heat register or curled on top of her thermal pad on the back of the couch, surveying her domain. If any of us get too close, she'll hiss and tell us to back off and leave her alone.

Skeeter, my 12 year old sweetheart, likes to be close to me when I work, so I placed her soft, cushy, cat bed on the top of my desk, right next to my computer, and she purrs while I type.

Sadly, my beautiful, 14 year old, Sam, died this weekend of cancer. I will miss him and I dedicate this story to him.