Dark eyes peer out as I take the carrier from the shelter attendant. I said I’d foster one adult cat, yet here I am taking three. Sisters. Never been apart. Damn heart. Accessories fill my trunk: bowls, trays, a bag of litter. “They stay how long?” “Not long.” The little black cat reaches out and sniffs my fingers. I spread my hand against the bars. My hand drops when a bag of food appears. “Kitten food?” “They’re young.” After the cats go back, I’ll find stuffed mice and teaser wands and cry at the silence. Today, I brace for chaos.
Deb Stark is a writer who has been published in places such as The New Quarterly, The Milk House, and the Toronto Star Short Story contest. Find Deb on Twitter and Instagram @debstark1.