Fhilcar Faunillani 
The cat sat on the cracked Brooklyn sidewalk, tail twitching. His eyes held a question no one answered. He appeared one evening, a shadow among the streetlights. Thin, with matted fur, he watched the world from a distance. The other cats, fed and familiar, hissed when he crept too close. He didn’t fight back. He …
The cat lay curled by the roadside, small and broken. His eyes, wide with confusion, met mine. I froze. Panic clawed at my chest. He was so still, so fragile, like a forgotten toy left in the rain. His faint meow, barely a whisper, broke the silence. It wasn’t a cry for attention—it was a …
The kitten’s cry was faint, barely a whisper under the car’s rusted belly. I stopped, heart sinking, as the sound tugged at me like a child’s plea. It came from a patch of shadow where oil stained the pavement. A tiny body, curled tight, lay shivering in the dirt. His fur was matted, one eye …
Emma’s boots crunched on the gravel path home, her breath visible in the chilly dusk. A faint, trembling mew stopped her heart, pulling her eyes to a tiny kitten, motionless on the cold ground. Its eyes were sealed shut, crusted over, small body curled tight against the world. Emma knelt, her scarf brushing the dirt. …
Her hands shook as she knelt by the roadside. The cat’s shallow breaths barely stirred the dust. Emily saw the stray’s eyes first—clouded, wide, clinging to life. The bushes hid her small, broken body, trembling under the weight of pain. A vendor nearby, his voice low, said she’d been there a day and a night. …
The evening was still, the California air soft and heavy. A faint rustle by the garden gate stopped me cold. My heart sank as I stepped outside. There, trembling in the dusk, stood a tiny dog. Her eyes, wide and pleading, held a flicker of hope beneath the fear. She hesitated, her frail body shaking, …
The puppy trembled in the cold, his small body curled tight against the clinic’s door. His head was swollen, eyes half-shut, fear clinging to him like damp fur. A stranger found him there, abandoned in the dark. They carried him inside, their hands gentle but urgent. The clinic lights were harsh, revealing a truth too …
The old dog lay in the dust, his gray muzzle resting on cracked pavement. His eyes, cloudy but kind, watched the world he’d always known fade. He was eleven, a guardian of an industrial yard. His days were spent trailing the night watchman, tail wagging like a metronome. The workers knew him, smiled at his …
The puppy’s cries echoed through the dusk, sharp and small against the quiet street. Our grandmother stopped, her cane tapping the ground, listening. She found him in a drain, a trembling ball of fur clinging to the slick walls. His tiny paws scratched desperately, but he couldn’t climb out. His eyes, wide with fear, locked …
The sun hadn’t risen yet. A small puppy limped toward me, eyes wide with trust. I was ready to fish with my family, rods packed, the lake calling. It was 4:30 a.m., the air cool and still. Then she appeared, a tiny shadow darting from the bushes, her fur matted, her body trembling. She didn’t …
Her eyes were sealed shut, crusted with infection. A tiny kitten, alone, trembling in the grass. The neighbor’s voice was soft, urgent. She hadn’t eaten in days. We knelt beside her, hearts sinking. The world was dark for her, darker than we could imagine. We lifted her gently, her body light as a whisper. A …
The kittens were small, their fur soft as marshmalllows. Their mother’s eyes watched, sharp and steady. She crouched in the Brooklyn backyard, her tail low, her voice a soft growl. The neighbor, gray hair tucked under a faded cap, knelt nearby, her hands empty but hopeful. She’d been trying to get the cats fixed, but …
The cat’s eyes caught the porch light, two soft moons in the dusk. She sat alone, drooling, waiting. Her fur was matted, a gray shadow against the cracked Brooklyn pavement. I stood still, watching her watch me. She didn’t run. She meowed, sharp and insistent, like she’d been calling for years and I’d only just …
The street was gray, dusted with autumn leaves. A cat, thin and ragged, sat by the curb. His fur was matted, streaked with dirt. Scratches crisscrossed his face like old battle scars. I was only out to buy cat litter, a quick errand on a quiet afternoon. But his eyes, dull and tired, held mine. …
She was smaller than my palm, trembling on the cold street. Her cries pierced the morning quiet, fragile yet fierce. I knelt beside her, the pavement rough under my knees. Her eyes, barely open, searched for something—someone—who wasn’t there. No mother, no warmth, just a scrap of fur fighting to be seen. I scooped her …