It was just a cat…

The cold should have killed it.

It inched towards the edge of the treeline and curled up there like a fuzzy ball, legs tucked into its body. A grizzly encounter in the past left it limping with a gushing scar that extended from the paws of its hind leg all the way to its back. Those barbs must have dug deep, so that it had to twist and churn and tore open its flesh to get free. The wounds healed, but the fur never grew back. Now an ugly bold patch separated the bottom quarter of its body. Scar run through in the middle of the bold spot, as if it was once ripped to pieces and stitched back together.

A chunk was missing from its left eye and left half a grey husk festering in the socket. The surrounding fur had wilted. The remaining eye held no luster. It stared at me, tired and forlorn.

It was a tiny thing, a few months old at most. As I reached out my hands, it pulled away, slowly, in an almost resigned fashion. A leathery tail uncoiled to face me, the mouth at the end of the tail darted in my direction, as if in warning. Fangs opened, exposing the circular rings of tiny, sharp teeth. A bit from them could tear a chunk of flesh from an elephant. It hissed in warning and danced in the air a little, sizing me up. Eventually, deeming me of no threat, the tail retreated, only occasionally swaying behind its body.

The hair on its forehead was hard and scruffy. It twitched when my palms cupped its forehead. I scratched him a little, and it yawed and purred in comfort. I could feel the vibration in through it skull. It turned its head and nudged me with nose, indicating me to continue. The little wet spot tingled.

its wings were broken too. Perhaps that’s why it was curled up here. They were webbed wrings, like a bat. A large chunk of the bony membrane had  been torn open, broken patagium drooped around boney appendages like broken canvas on a sail. These weren’t wings for flight. Instead it would climb to high places, unfurled their gliders and rode the currents like a ship traversing the ocean. But it’s unlikely to ever sail the winds again. These wings, once matured, would be set, and these wounds could never heal.

A car whooshed past. It tensed up, let out a loud screech, and dashed into the shadows.

~