I wasn't always a calico, you know

I was born a tiny kitten

Covered from nose to tail in downy fluff

White as a cloud, soft as as a dream, sticking out every which way

Frolicking and tumbling, without a care in the world

Heedless of the rust around me

The more I grew, the harder it became not to see it

Fences, chains, machinery

Loose blades hanging on the wall, nails sticking out of the floorboards

All long-forgotten, succumbing to inevitable decay

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With every step my fur was stained orange

Every fall opened wounds, spilled blood to soak in

My hackles raising instinctively the more I recognize the danger all around

I haven't yet figured out how to lower them

Whatever you see before you now, it wasn't always here

And what was here... is gone.

Maybe someday it'll come back, but I can't say I'm all that hopeful

And even if it did, what are the chances it'd survive this time?

This place was made for calicos