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Weekly Contest #327
It was a cold winter when I first met Amy—a boy cat with a girl’s name. “Amy” means beloved, but he didn’t look loved at all. He was curled up in a small cage, shivering, his gray fur matted and stiff with dirt. The tip of his tail was broken, crusted with dried blood, and he bared his teeth when I leaned closer, a low hiss vibrating from his throat. The man selling him said he was “too naughty” and “liked to break things,” as if that excused the wounds.I had never kept a pet before. I’d just come from a small fishing town and was renting a ...
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