Fhilcar Faunillani 
The wind cut sharp across the empty parking lot. A tiny kitten, barely born, shivered alone on a car’s cold roof. Its eyes were sealed shut, its body too small to hold much heat. I stopped, heart sinking, and scooped it into my hands. The fragility of its breaths felt like a plea. I couldn’t …
Her eyes caught the sunlight, small and trembling, beside a heap of forgotten things. A tiny cat, barely two months old, curled tight against the world’s indifference. She was alone on the dump, surrounded by broken bottles and rusted cans. I stopped, my heart tugging, and reached for a bag to carry her home. Her …
The cat lay still on the grass median, her small body curled tight. Her mews were soft, desperate, like a child calling for help in the dark. I knelt beside her, my dog panting a few steps ahead. Her eyes, crusted and cloudy, barely opened to meet mine. She mewed louder, sensing warmth, sensing hope. …
The kitten’s meow was faint, almost lost in the park’s evening hum. My son’s hand tightened in mine, his eyes searching the grass. We stopped. The kitten, no bigger than a mitten, stumbled toward us. Its tiny legs wobbled, but it kept coming. My son knelt, his face soft with wonder. The kitten’s fur was …
The cat lay still in the roadside brush, flies buzzing around his matted fur. A young woman stopped, her heart catching at the sight, mistaking him for something lifeless until he stirred. His head was buried beneath the leaves, hiding from the pests that swarmed him. She called out softly. He lifted his head, weak …
The cold bit at my fingers as I set up my market stall. A small gray cat watched from the alley’s edge. His eyes, wide and golden, held a quiet patience. He didn’t move closer, just sat, tail curled neatly around his paws. Every day, four o’clock sharp, he was there. The market hummed with …
The street was gray, and the kitten was smaller than my hand. His eyes, half-closed, held a weight no creature so young should carry. People hurried past. Briefcases swung, shoes clicked, but no one stopped. The kitten sat alone, a tiny shadow against the curb. I was late, my mind racing with deadlines, but his …
The rain tapped softly on my porch. Two pairs of eyes, one wide, one wary, stared up from the dark. A mother cat, her fur damp, stood at my door. Behind her, a tiny kitten pressed close, shivering. I opened the door, and the mother led her baby inside. Their paws left faint prints on …
The cats huddled in the corner, eyes dull as forgotten coins. Their fur, once soft, clung to their bones like a memory of better days. In the zoo’s monkey enclosure, the air was sharp with chaos. Monkeys screeched, darting from branch to branch, their hands grabbing at the cats’ fur. Huanghuang and Baibai, the two …
The rain fell soft and steady, soaking the earth. A faint cry carried through the neighbor’s garden. It was sharp, desperate, almost lost in the patter of drops. My friend heard it first, his brow furrowing as he paused mid-sentence. We stepped outside, the air heavy with damp, and followed the sound. In a shadowed …
Her eyes flickered, barely open, in the shadow of a dumpster. A tiny dog, curled tight, forgotten. The summer sun burned the asphalt. Fern lay there, her body frail, her breath shallow. Nobody saw her. Nobody stopped. The world moved on, loud and fast, while she faded. Her fur was matted, her ribs sharp against …
The puppies’ soft cries echoed in the empty factory. Children, chasing shadows, found them huddled in a corner. Their tiny bodies shivered against the cold concrete. Patrick, the smallest, lay still, his eyes wide with trust. His back legs were gone, his front paws raw and tender. Piper and Peppi, his sisters, curled close, their …
The dog lay trembling by the highway. His small body barely moved under the weight of pain. Cars roared past, their tires spitting gravel. Some drivers slowed, glanced, then sped away. Others threw stones. Not out of cruelty, but fear. Fear of swerving, of crashing. The stones hit hard. His hind legs shook, weak and …
The puppy lay in the grass, trembling. His tiny body, barely two months old, was still. Ray’s legs twitched faintly. Flies buzzed around him. The air felt heavy with neglect. Three days passed. No one came. His shallow breaths barely stirred the summer heat. The neighbors saw it happen. A small dog, thrown from an …
Her eyes held a sadness too deep for words. Kama lay still, her burned paws trembling. The field had been a furnace, flames licking the sky. She ran through them, again and again, for her puppies. She couldn’t save them. Her body bore the cost—charred fur, raw skin, pain in every breath. Yet she clung …