Fhilcar Faunillani 
The dog lay still on the cold asphalt. His eyes, wet with tears, followed the stranger who stopped his car. The man knelt beside him, gentle but urgent. The dog’s body was limp, his fur matted with dirt and blood. Only his head moved, a faint tilt toward the voice that spoke softly, promising help. …
The puppy shivered outside the shop. Its fur was damp, matted from the morning’s rain. People hurried past, their coats pulled tight against the chill. The puppy’s eyes, wet and wide, followed them. It didn’t bark. It didn’t move. It just sat, trembling, on the cold pavement. I stopped. Something about its stillness tugged at …
The shop door creaked open, and two dogs stood still, pressed close. Their fur was a tangled, dirty mess, hiding small wounds that whispered of neglect. No one saw them at first. Shoppers passed, their eyes on shelves, not the floor. The dogs didn’t move, didn’t bark, just leaned into each other. A mother and …
The man walked his dog at dusk, the sky soft with fading light. Two kittens, small as whispers, huddled near a fence, alone. Their eyes were closed, their fur matted with dirt. I knelt closer, searching for a mother cat. Nothing. No tracks, no scent, no sound. The night was coming, cold and heavy. My …
The kitten was alone, shivering on the farmer’s market table. Its tiny cries barely reached me. The crowd moved past, their voices loud, their boots heavy on the frosty ground. I waited, hoping its mother would appear. She didn’t. The air was sharp, biting at my fingers, and the kitten’s mews grew faint. I scooped …
The cat followed her, limping but determined, his tail flicking like a metronome. She stopped, heart catching at his missing ears, his stunted front legs. He didn’t meow. He didn’t need to. His eyes, wide and searching, spoke of hunger and hope. She walked home, the cat trailing her shadow, step by uneven step. In …
The rain fell soft on the windshield, blurring the road. Meng saw her first—a tiny shape, trembling, alone. He stopped the car. The kitten was small, barely bigger than his hand, her fur matted with mud. She didn’t move when he knelt beside her, only stared with wide, frightened eyes. He lifted her gently, her …
Gray saw her curled on the roadside, eyes sealed shut, trembling. A tiny life, alone, unnoticed. People passed, their steps quick, their eyes elsewhere. Gray, never a cat person, stood frozen. Something in her smallness, her helplessness, held him. He waited. No one stopped. The thought came slow, heavy: She won’t survive if I leave. …
The kitten’s cries were soft, almost lost in the hum of the street. Aru stopped, his heart tugging at the sound. A small crowd had gathered, their voices low, their eyes fixed on something small and trembling. A kitten, barely two months old, crouched in the dirt. Its fur was matted, wet from rain or …
The kitten’s cry was faint, trembling, like a whisper lost in the night. Melanie stopped, her heart catching the sound before her ears did. She stood by the roadside, the trash can looming in the dark. Her husband, John, crouched beside her, his breath visible in the cold. The meow came again, sharper now, from …
The rain tapped softly on the window. A gray cat, wild and wary, crouched in the shadows of a neighbor’s porch, her kittens hidden nearby. Her eyes glinted with distrust. She was feral, untouched by human hands. Yet, her tiny kittens, barely a week old, needed her. We watched from a distance, hearts heavy with …
The backyard camera flickered on, catching a shadow. A thin cat, eyes dull, curled tight in a winter shelter. He wasn’t one of ours. For years, I’d fed a colony of strays behind the house. They were a quiet family, skittish but loyal, sharing food and space under the pines. Newcomers usually got hissed away, …
The kitten’s eyes were sealed shut, crusted with pus. Charlotte’s heart sank as she lifted it from the dirt. She hadn’t planned on a cat. Her dog, tail wagging, followed her to the pet store for a bath. On the way, she saw it—a tiny, shivering thing, barely breathing, flies buzzing around its matted fur. …
Her eyes, soft and tired, met mine across the dusty street. A dog, alone, her face swollen with something cruel. She didn’t run, didn’t cower—just stood there, tail giving a faint wag, trusting even after the world had left her behind. A woman found her first. Kind hands lifted her from the road, where pain …
Her eyes were half-closed, searching for something beyond the cold walls. Tia chewed grass to quiet her hunger. The concrete enclosure held her like a forgotten secret. Four high walls, gray and unyielding, had been her world for years. She was a shadow, moving weakly, her legs buckling under her frail body. She tried to …