Complete:
Follow the lights.
See the glitter of a million stars trapped in glass cages, forever reaching for the heavens above. Hear the people walking in endless waves, a ceaseless ocean in the street; laughing, shouting, chattering. Go beyond - deep into the heart of the city - it is quiet here. Not silent, never that. Listen to its solemn beat in the dark.
Suburbia beckons.
She's lying on a windowsill, with an air of languid ease. She is dark, like liquid night, all thick curves with a splash of white at her chest, her tips. The city is spread before her, ripe for the taking. She is content to sit. The house is small and unassuming, like it's caretaker Ms. Bebris, who now approaches.
'Pearl? Come on in, old girl. I've put you a nice little snack before bed.' Bebris squints in the dark, struggling in vain to distinguish where she sits.
She deigns to turn her head, emerald eyes shining. Her tongue flickers out for a moment. She turns away once more, ever disappointed with the present, still lost in the past.
*
Heat slams down, baking the cobblestones. Spices, in their infinite variety, ride the wind and Pearl takes them all in. She dashes through the street, and into the next alley, ignoring the startled squawks and flashing feet. Pyramids tower in the distance.
He is ahead somewhere, teasing her.
Her heart thrums, her soul shivers in delight - here is a hunt! Something, finally, to excite her. He came from seemingly nowhere, a new male prowling the streets - a king, they whispered; a god. One fit for her.
His tail, pure white, always seems an inch away - flicking around a corner, under a vendors stall or up and over shakily stacked crates. The moon watches their game in amusement, coming and going many a time, but never content to leave it entirely. The very world watches and waits, in hushed anticipation. Who will win this daring chase?
It is not even a question. Confidence purrs through her fur, a wicked joy and more, a sense of entitlement. She will end this when she so desires and look! He is close at hand; the alleyway is a dead end.
She smiles.
And pounces.
*
Darkness fades into twilight; the stars wink out, one by one lost before the brilliance of the sun. Even she is still affected by the magnificence of dawn, the rupturing, eternal birth of Light - see it bleed. Know its pain.
She certainly does.
She rises with it, shuddering yawns coursing through her. A light leap and padding footsteps lead her to the pink bowl with quaintly outlined lettering; it brands her, but does not own her. She nibbles at the food, a touch here, a touch there.
Doddering old Bebris is also stirring, in the other room. Bebris doesn't believe in late starts or wasting time. She doesn't particularly care.
It is time to go.
She saunters out into the day, never seeming to hurry but covering ground quickly nonetheless. Bebris won't mind. Bebris never does - of all the caretakers to come and go, this one is the most manageable. It is pleasing.
*
Pearl lands hard on the cobblestones, white flesh tantalisingly close - but he is up, limbs flashing, scrabbling in extraordinary athleticism. She is stunned, left to watch in awe as he makes it to the top and pauses.
His chest is heaving, but his voice is calm. 'I win.'
She sits, tail lovingly wrapped close. 'This time? Maybe.'
His eyes flash, stance cocky. 'Won't you give up? I can't be beat.'
'You should talk less. You are losing your air of mystery.'
He smiles, not at all affected by her contrived disdain. He lays down, paw dangling carelessly and studies her in silence. She bares his stare with an assured grace he can't help but find alluring. Her pink tongue flicks out, lapping at her dark fur.
'What is your name?'
She stops, green eyes locking with his gold. 'Pearl.'
He shivers. It fits, so perfectly, so fine - her name rolls over him and he is lost in that moment. 'Don't you--' he halts.
She is already streaming away, fast as she can. He shouts but his words are lost in the hustle of the crowds and just like that, the chase is on once more.
*
The alley is narrow and dirty.
She makes her way down the lane. Her coat is fine and glossy; it shines in the dim light. It is easy to ignore the curious stares from the strays, the human refuse. Her feline grace is incongruous in this place; it jars.
She pauses at the mouth of the street.
Buildings rise up and stab the sky in their hundreds, their thousands, all a-gleaming in the sun; a thousand superfluous reflections. She sniffs. Warm light bathes her dark pelt, sinks deep within and is lost. The rest of the alley is locked in shadow. It is a good moment.
‘Some view, huh?’
As with all good things, it didn’t last.
She turns to regard the man that has spoken. A moment is all she needs to dismiss him once more and she looks away from those too-wide eyes, that craggy face.
'Come on, don't be like that.'
Silence. Her pose is no longer so liquid, so relaxed.
He shifts, causing a small cascade of rubbish to rain down upon the ground. A hand reaches out.
Her ear twitches. 'I did not give you permission to approach, nor to speak with me.'
The hand retreats. His scratchy voice rushes to fill its place.
'She speaks,' he whispers. 'And won't you listen to that golden tongue? Heh. Where are you from, old gal?'
Her eyes smoulder. A hiss builds in her throat.
'Alright, alright! I didn't mean nothing by it. Just that tone, you see, that fashion of speaking -- it's old, you know? Archaic even.'
Cars, trucks, and busses flit in a blur. Humans walk by, dressed in various outlandish clothing. She tries to shut out his voice - he presupposes a familiarity that isn't there, as the elderly are wont to. His eyes burn, hot weights on her back. He is anchoring her in the now and that won't do.
It is all about the hunt, the chase she cannot forget, she will not let go.
*
Their dance is eternal.
Hunter and hunted, interchangeable as night and day. She flees through the streets, the slap of sandals on stone rolling applause to her ears. She parts the crowds with ease, never looking back but knowing he is there.
It is horribly comforting and she is not sure how to feel about that.
For now, there is only the frantic running, sensations blurring; burning sunlight; hot breath pouring down her throat; stuttering heartbeats; words, shouted, laughed, the duel of wits and later, cooling down in silken shade beneath the cover of stars. The world – it is theirs.
Little by little, things change.
The feet are no longer quite so quick to move out of the way, the sounds are shorter, harsh. Footsteps are fewer; the ocean retreats. Fewer smells. Immersed as they are in their pursuit, it takes a while to notice. When food isn’t so readily available and the world seems to shrink and darken, she takes note and so does he.
No longer does she have the energy to streak across the cityscape, to sneak through the temples. Everything is changing. She sits on the steps, watches the burnished city with its fields of gold. The fields are dotted with dark spots. Dead and dying.
‘Everything is changing,’ he says.
She is not surprised by his presence. He is her shadow. And she, his. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.
He is close, head hovering near her shoulder. ‘You’ve heard what they’re doing.’ It is not a question.
‘Yes,’ she says. Her eyes are closed, breath bated.
His head rests in the curve of her neck and she brushes it with her own.
‘I have to go,’ he says, his strong voice trembling.
‘There is nothing you can do. They will do as they will.’
‘But these are our people! Released on to the battlefield like sheep to the slaughter. We cannot stand by.’
He waits, impatience bridling through him. He cannot sit still anymore, begins to pace around her. Waiting for her word. He will go one way or another, she knows.
‘You have my name,’ she says at last.
He stops, struck by that.
‘I don’t need –‘
‘Onyx,’ he interrupts. ‘My name is Onyx.’
She breathes in deep, lets it shift through her and take root.
It is enough. With that, he is gone.
*
She has searched the world over.
In the alleys of every major city, in the jungles and the wilds -- a search in vain, futile to the end. None were so fraught as the day she left the city for the first time, venturing out on to the battlefield. She shies away from that memory, from the stench of death.
She cannot forget.
This time, she does not return to Bebris’ small and unassuming home. Was this it? Has she finally had enough? Her feet trot along quickly enough, but she is blind to everything around her. Eventually, she finds herself back in a familiar alley – it seems she is doomed to forever walk in circles. It is not the same, however. Something integral has changed. Moonlight bathes it silver. She treads lightly across the moonbeam.
He is there, the human with the demented smile; the eyes that have seen too much, the tongue that speaks when it should not.
‘Have you tired of it yet?’ he demands.
Gone is the cavalier tone, the disguise. Authority burns in his gaze.
Her back arches and she spits in defiance, meeting his stare head on. Her legs tremble, she blinks furiously – his eyes do not waver. Finally, she slumps forward, all but collapsing into a pile at his feet. He looks down on this broken queen, not without compassion.
‘I still search.’ The words, pitiful, crawl out amidst the trash.
‘You cannot.’
She winced, mouth opening in a mew of pain. Has she fallen so low, so quickly? It couldn’t be - no, this one had never been what he seemed. Touched, or perhaps one of the gods themselves, she trembled at his voice, which softened:
‘Have you gone to the ends of the Earth?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you searched the forests, the plains, the oceans?’
‘Yes.’
‘The swamps, the deserts, the streets and sewers; the filth of man. Have you looked for him there?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’
A pause.
‘Did you never think that he didn’t want to be found?’
‘Yes! Gods, yes.’ Despair rages, failure accosts, guilt smothers.
She remembers that day, heart thrashing in her chest, as the foreigners came into the city. They came in waves, victorious. She cared not for them, for the foreign smells, for the reek of shame that filled the streets – she cared only for him, he who had her name, the light to her dark. He didn’t return; she’d known from the beginning, of course, had sensed their parting to be one of finality.
Among all the dead brethren she found on the fields outside the city, none were white, none were him. They had tried to stop the chariots, tried to turn back once the enemy released her kind on to the field – they had surrendered, but not soon enough.
Sobs wrack her. His hand cups her head and it is big and warm and comfortable. She noses it, sniffling. ‘Come now, Daughter, you knew the futility of going out that day. You among all your kind know Man best.’ His voice is soft and melodic as he brushes her fur in long, rhythmic motions.
He lifts her gaze to his. ‘Did you think us blind? Do you think the gods to be so capricious and cruel that we would let you wander, alone, for centuries?’ he reproaches.
The bleak answer lies in her silence.
‘Sweet Daughter, he has always been with you. All this time and you never thought to look in moonlight, never thought to look to Mother Moon, who watched you so constantly. Look, girl, look.’
She looks, and he is there, head brushing hers. Her heart sings with joy, he is here finally. Pearl is complete once more, Onyx too – his body shimmers in the moonbeams, his eyes brimming. Had he shadowed her through the ages, silent, a tortured witness? She drank him in, not caring for the answer. Happy to bask beneath the moon’s watchful eye, in this moment that salved the burning wound inside.
Sometime later – a moment, an age – the alley is empty and Pearl is racing through the streets, ecstasy bursting in her chest. She spares a brief thought for kind old Bebris who had cared for her and a million other cats she branded ‘Pearl’ – but it is a brief thought only.
The chase is on once more.
Overall
The best part about this is how subtly you weave in the fact that they're cats (unless I'm horribly wrong, which I don't think I am). You never go out and say it, but just by your verb choice and descriptions the readers can imagine them as characters, just the same. 
