The first I noticed was the rustling. I was walking home, my shoes clicking loudly on the wet dirty ground. I had my battered trench coat pulled over my head in vein attempt to keep the cold and wet at bay.
The rustling of mush cardboard caused my footfalls to halt momentarily. The following pathetic mew caused me to kneel by the drain which the sound had come from and thus leave my attempt at shelter.
There, in the dark, sitting on the soggy remains of what once was a cardboard box was a muddy mattered mass of damp fur. Large, round eyes stared into mine from the other side of the rusty broken grill. Realising the situation I took a brown paper bag from my pocket. The crinkling paper caused the little head to turn, ears pricked watching.
The wet mush made a disgusting squish beneath cautiously moving paws. The half sandwich lay in my outstretched hand, drops landing on it, ruining the brown bread. The small furry face with wet whiskers drooping popped curiously popped out of the missing section of the drain cover. The tiny pink nose twitched. Large eyes assessing, calculating. Then a foreleg, stained brown, card mush sticking to the fur. The first was followed by a second and slowly the creature slunk out of the darkness and away from the ruins of the box. Away from the card walls of the only home it had ever known. the fish held out was sniffed inquisitively, then tasted. Within seconds the tuna was gong and the animal sourcing for more.
Dirt and muddy water covered the hand that was slipped beneath the protruding ribs. A soft sound of protest escaped the furry mouth as the paws left the ground. The wet fur clung to the thin shirt as I pressed the shivering form to my chest. I wrapped us both in the battered trench coat hoping to preserve some warmth and soon the bundle was purring. Continuing on my way hame, much wetter, my heart much warmer. The wind whipped the ends of the coat around my legs in random gusts. My shoes clicked and splashed loudly as we went home.
Thank you so much for reading. Tell me if you want more. Also if you find any problems with spelling or grammar don't hesitate to tell me so I can fix it.
YOU ARE READING
Cardboard, brown paper, empty crates and happiness
FantasyWhat is happiness? Those who have little may have it. Those who have lots may not. Happiness is not riches. Sometimes it is found when one has only a cardboard world.
