The kitten lay under the house, small and strange, his body puffed like a forgotten balloon. His eyes, wide and cloudy, held a question no one could answer. He wasn’t right. Not muscular, as they first thought, but swollen, air trapped beneath his skin. A young couple found him, their hands gentle, their voices low. …
The rain was coming. A faint mew trembled under the house, weak and hungry. It had been two days. The kitten was alone in the garden, shivering, too small to walk. Its mother was gone, siblings nowhere near. The sky darkened, heavy with clouds. We couldn’t leave it there. We carried it inside, a tiny …
The tent was cold at 4 a.m. A soft, insistent meow broke the silence. I unzipped the flap, my breath catching in the chill. A tiny kitten sat there, fearless, eyes wide. He looked at me like he’d been waiting. His fur was matted, a faint smudge of dirt on his nose. I didn’t know …
The cat staggered across the street, thin as a whisper. His bones pushed against his dull fur. I stopped my car. His eyes, cloudy and tired, met mine through the dusk. I couldn’t drive on. A can of cat food sat in my glovebox, bought for a neighbor’s pet. I opened it. The scent drifted. …
The rain fell soft on the pavement, soaking my shoes. A tiny kitten, shivering and small, mewed from a corner. It was just a shadow at first, tucked against a wall. Its fur clung to its body, wet and thin. I knelt, calling softly, and it ran to me, stumbling, crying out. Those eyes, wide …
The kitten clung to the wall, its tiny claws scraping against the brick. Its cries pierced the evening, sharp and desperate, pulling me to a stop on my walk home from work. I stood there, watching. The kitten’s wails grew louder, echoing off the empty street. Its small body trembled, eyes wide, searching for something …
The river glinted under the afternoon sun. I held my fiancé’s hand, lost in the woods, when a ripple caught my eye—a small, sodden shape bobbing in the water. It was a cat. His fur clung to his frame, gray and matted, his eyes half-closed against the current. I knelt by the bank, reaching out, …
Her belly sagged low, heavy with life, as she stepped from the shadows. I stopped, my dog’s leash loose in my hand, and watched her pause, eyes wide, trusting. The evening was cool, the kind that settles over a small town when the sun dips below the trees. My dog, Rusty, sniffed the air, curious …
The rain fell soft on the pavement, and her eyes caught mine through the glass. A stray cat, small and soaked, huddled by my shop’s door. She didn’t move. She just sat there, her fur matted, her gaze steady but wary. I pushed the door open and set a bowl of scraps near her. She …
The calico cat sat on my windowsill, her eyes steady, holding mine. She seemed to carry a story she couldn’t tell. Her fur caught the morning light, soft patches of orange, black, and white. She didn’t move when I approached, just watched, calm and sure. I set a small bowl of food beside her. She …
The garage smelled of oil and frost. Two kittens huddled in a corner, shivering, their eyes wide. Their tiny bodies pressed together, seeking warmth. The November air bit at my fingers as I crouched low. No mother cat in sight, just these two, barely bigger than my hand. The thermometer outside read near freezing. I …
The cat staggered across the cracked pavement, thin as a whisper. His bones pressed sharp against his skin, a skeleton draped in dull fur. A woman walked her dog under the July sun. She stopped, her eyes catching the cat’s unsteady steps. In her bag, a small can of cat food, meant for her own …
The kitten’s cries were faint, like whispers lost in the wind. I saw him stumbling down the street, alone. His tiny paws barely touched the ground, each step a wobble. He followed me, meowing, his voice sharp against the quiet afternoon. I stopped and looked back. His eyes, wide and searching, held mine. I knelt, …
The orange cat sat alone in the dark. Her eyes caught the light, wide and wary. Dust settled on empty shelves. The store had been abandoned, its windows smudged with time. She crouched in a corner, her thin frame tucked against a cracked wall. Hunger gnawed at her, a quiet ache. Nobody came here anymore. …
The cat had no front legs. His eyes, wide and green, followed me through the dusk. I stopped, heart heavy, on the cracked sidewalk. He dragged himself closer, not begging, just watching. His fur was matted, gray like the fading light. I knelt, and he didn’t flinch. Something in his stillness held me there, as …