sheepdogowner avatar


It has been three nights since the neighbor's cat slipped through the closing door.
There are no tracks in the snow once the freezing rain glossed over
it, leaving it shiny and hard, like meringue on old pie.
There are no warm sanctuaries for fugitive cats.
School children have been kept inside during recess for fear of frostbite. Homeless shelters have increased their hours, over extended their capacities.
No one is outside.
Somewhere, the cat.
Why isn't she leaving food on her porch, a box with a blanket, something beside the salt bag. Why isn't she calling his name. Here

Be the first to comment

Sign up or Sign in to leave a comment on this drabble.