Sarah Knight 
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. …
I hated my mother for abandoning me for six years. Then I opened a locked box under her bed and learned the devastating truth about my fluffy orange cat. “You’re taking him?” she asked, her voice flat and emotionless. She stared blankly at the plastic cat carrier in my hand. “Of course I’m taking him,” …
My cat vanished for two days, then came home wearing a tiny wool scarf I had never seen before. At first, I just stood there in my kitchen doorway, holding a cold cup of coffee, staring like I had lost my mind. Marlow sat on the back step as if nothing had happened. He was …
I had not seen that stray cat in six months, until he ran across the parking lot like he’d been waiting. At first, I thought I was seeing things. I had only stopped at the little corner market because my truck was low on gas and my stomach was empty. It was the same old …
A snobby cafe manager threw a freezing old farmer and his terrifyingly loud cat out into a deadly blizzard. Days later, discovering the heartbreaking truth about that “monster” shattered me. “Get that thing out of my store right now,” the manager snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the mud-stained boots of the old man. The …
My cat came home with a folded note tied to his collar, and I thought someone had died. That sounds dramatic, I know. But when you live alone, and your old orange cat walks in at 8:17 at night with paper taped to his collar, your mind goes places. His name is Biscuit. He was …
I thought my cat had finally gotten us sued over chicken, until the neighbor’s note turned my knees weak. It was taped to my front door with blue painter’s tape, folded once, like some kind of official warning. I was still in my robe, holding my first cup of coffee, when I opened it. It …
The first night I brought home that giant cat, my five-pound dog tried to arrest him in the hallway. I am not exaggerating. That little Chihuahua planted all four toothpick legs on the carpet, puffed up his tiny chest, and barked like he had a badge, a flashlight, and backup waiting outside. The cat just …