The feral cat darted in and out, skirting the edge of
her peripheral vision. She knew it was there, but she’d never acknowledge it.
Let the tiny tiger think it was being stealthy.
Life was hard enough when you weigh six pounds.
She’d seen it skitter out to grab a mouthful of dog
food and race back into the forest, watching for the dogs who would be happy to
chase it down and kill it.
Born wild to a wild mother, it would always balance on
that razor’s edge that separated wild and domestic things, neither one nor the
other.
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