Sarah Knight 
I went home to sell my late mother’s ruined farm, only to find six massive farmers building a giant mansion for a three-legged cat. “What are you doing to my barn?” I shouted over the whine of a power saw, my expensive city shoes sinking into the freezing mud. It was 5:00 AM. I had …
The note said my cat was banned until he apologized, but the porch already had his blanket. I found the note taped beside my front door on a Friday morning, right under the doorbell. It was written in shaky blue ink. Your cat is banned from my porch until he apologizes for knocking over my …
I thought my cat was having a secret romance through the neighbor’s window until I learned who was really waiting there. The first time I caught Razzle doing it, I almost dropped my laundry basket. There he was, my big fluffy Ragdoll, standing on his back legs outside my neighbor’s window like he was in …
My son put six crumpled dollars on the shelter counter and begged me not to lose his cat twice. I stood there with my car keys still in my hand, my coat half-zipped, and my heart dropping straight through the floor. “Tobin,” I said softly, “baby, we’re only here to look.” But he wasn’t looking …
The first night my roommate moved out, Moxie sat in her empty room like she had only gone downstairs for milk. That was the part that got me. Not the boxes. Not the bare nail holes in the wall. Not the pale square on the carpet where her bed had been for three years. It …
When my human handed me over in the parking lot, she didn’t cry until I stopped looking at her. Her name was Karen. To me, she had always been my whole house. Her lap. Her pillow. Her soft robe hanging on the bedroom door. Her tired hand reaching down in the dark when she could …
My son lied to every teacher he had, but he never once dared lie to our fat orange cat. I am not proud of saying that. I had tried everything with Mason. I tried being patient. I tried being firm. I tried reward charts, timers, snacks, calm talks at the kitchen table, and that tired …
I hated my neighbor’s cat for three years, until the morning he stopped coming, and my house felt dead. His name was Charlie. He was a fat gray cat with normal little ears, green eyes, and the attitude of a retired judge. He belonged to Mrs. Whitaker, the widow next door, but Charlie seemed to …
We went to the shelter for a cat everyone wanted, but my son chose the one nobody could touch. That morning, our living room looked like we were expecting royalty. There was a soft gray bed by the front window. A little bowl set near the kitchen wall. A basket of toys my son, Evan, …
A little boy stood on my porch with three dollars and asked to buy the only thing keeping me alive. That was exactly how he said it. “Mister, can I buy your cat?” He couldn’t have been more than eight. Maybe nine if life had been hard on him, and it looked like it had. …
I make my living stealing car parts in the dead of night, but crawling under a truck led me to steal an entire vehicle to save thirty lives. The concrete was freezing against my spine, and my heavy battery-powered saw was mere inches from the rusty exhaust pipe when something wet suddenly touched my cheek. …
She set the cat carrier on our counter and said, “I need her gone before Friday.” I looked up from the appointment book. For a second, I thought I had heard her wrong. I work the front desk at a small animal clinic in a wealthy suburb outside Denver. Most people who come in here …
My aunt threw my dead grandmother’s kitten out into a freezing rainstorm, but my grandma’s secret will delivered the most brilliantly savage revenge from beyond the grave. “I’m not dealing with a filthy stray in a multi-million dollar house,” Aunt Brenda snapped. She violently ripped a piece of packing tape, sealing a flimsy cardboard delivery …
When my upstairs neighbor moved out, he left his cat in the hallway like a thing with no heartbeat. That is the part I still cannot get out of my head. Not the empty apartment. Not the scuffed-up wall where his couch had scraped the paint. Not even the cheap plastic food bowl sitting crooked …
The emergency clinic threatened to call the cops on my tattoos, while offering coffee to the man in the tailored suit who just broke a kitten’s legs. “I need you to step back from the counter, sir,” the security guard barked, his hand resting near his heavy black belt. I hadn’t even raised my voice. …