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Weekly Contest #340
My son named her Kit. It was the only name that came to mind when he found her. She was lying on her side, her eyes were closed, her breathing was slow, and she curled her front paws; not in defense but in some response to a dream or a memory. I saw blood coming from her neck. I knew how she got there but I didn’t know how she was still alive. I ran the back of my hand slowly along her fur. It was soft. From afar she was ordinary, but close up, her fur was an undisciplined field of browns, reds, blacks and whites bearing their beauty as one....
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