Oct 5, 2020
2 min read
Feral
prose poem
My daughter is the cat whisperer. She sees cats in need where ever they may be. She once saw a kitten thrown from a pickup truck in the middle of a thunder storm in a busy store parking lot. We were 250 feet away and she suddenly screamed “Is that…is that a kitten?” and took off running. Sure enough, it was a tiny, wet, three week old, flea riddled kitten. Luckily, that kitten found a home quickly.
