My paws aren't the only part of me that is different.
Like the surface of the moon, we wax, growing stronger and rounder and more adventurous with each of our mother's comings and goings. We become aware of the passage between light and dark, and the way her travels align with these. Our limbs fill out and we are entangled, a mess of bandy legs and twisting tails. Our mouths open to spill out foggy puffs of air that stain the dark of the den in plumes of overlapping silver.
It is here that I recognise I am not like them.
