Thomas

It was late, and the streets were quiet under the soft glow of the streetlights when I saw him—a small shape huddled in the shadows. It was a stray cat, aka Thomas. I approached cautiously, not wanting to alert it. A soft purr—part meow, part laughter—rumbled from him, and I laughed too, amazed. Then, I saw brusises on his body. Oh no! I scooped him up gently, and he curled in my arms, the bell chiming softly with each careful step. At home, I treated his wounds and took care of him, soon we became insepreable conpanions. He loved the little things: chasing jingly toys, batting strings, rubbing against my legs when he wanted attention. But one day...