Jingle

work in progress

The kitten's breath puffed out in tiny white clouds, disappearing into the frigid air as quickly as it had appeared.

 The kitten's small frame shivered uncontrollably, each step through the snow an effort that sapped its remaining strength. 

Its whiskers were frosted from the biting cold, and the once-lively sparkle in its big green eyes dimmed with every moment spent wandering the relentless expanse of white.

"Meow," the sound barely escaped, a feeble plea to the empty streets. No one answered. Its shadow, a thin silhouette against the snow, wobbled precariously.

Each paw print told a story of struggle, a delicate imprint on the otherwise pristine canvas of the city's winter coat. 

Tiny, round, and hesitant, the marks led through alleys and across silent sidewalks. The kitten's heart raced, thudding against its ribs like a drumbeat of survival.

"Need warmth," he thought, the idea an instinct more than a fully formed notion. "Must rest."

The kitten's ears twitched at the soft crunch of its own steps, the only sounds in the desolate evening. 

The kitten paused, lifting a paw caked in snowflakes, then set it down again, leaving another fragile impression behind.

"Where?" It was a question filled with simple need, a query to the vast world that seemed so impossibly large to such a tiny creature. "Where is warm?"

The search continued, an arduous journey for a minute soul in a world that felt indifferent to its plight. With each step, he yearned for a haven, a place to curl up and let the warmth seep back into its bones.

"Must be somewhere," he hoped, more than believed. "Somewhere safe."

The hope pushed the kitten forward, even as the energy waned and the cold threatened to claim victory over the frail kitten's body. Each puff of breath, each paw print, was a testament to its resolve, a silent vow that it would not give up. Not yet.

                                                                                     ***   

With a quiver of whiskers and a flick of the tail, the kitten darted forward. The world loomed—a cacophony of growls and roars. Metal beasts with glaring eyes charged down the path, exhaling plumes of acrid smoke. "Vroom! Vroom!" they thundered as tires splashed through slushy remnants of the day's snowfall.

"Safe?" Paws skittered on icy patches, teetering on the edge of disaster. Each leap was a gamble, each dash a desperate bid for survival. 

"Must... keep moving." The thought pulsed with urgency, propelling the kitten across the treacherous urban river.

"Scram, cat!" A voice barked from above—a human, shrouded in layers of fabric, oblivious to the tiny heart they startled. The kitten recoiled, fur bristling, and scuttled beneath a nearby car for cover.

"Alone," he realized, the green orbs scanning, searching. They reflected street lamps that flickered like distant stars, too high to offer warmth or solace. "Need friend."

"Hey, watch it!" Another giant stomped by, narrowly missing his hiding spot. The kitten's breath caught, a silent plea going unanswered. It was as if the city spoke in a language the kitten had yet to learn—harsh, hurried, unwelcoming.

"Help?" The question was a whisper in his mind, a fragile thread of hope amidst the chaos. Eyes wide, they traced the contours of shadows, looking for a gentle hand, a soft voice, any sign of kindness in a world that felt colder than the snow itself.

"Where?" The kitten pondered, peering out from under the steel beast that had offered temporary refuge. "Where is safe?"

The search pressed on, each step an echo of determination. With every dodge and weave, the kitten clung to the belief that safety was just one more leap away. That somewhere, in the vast, unforgiving night, there was a place where a lost kitten could belong.

                                                                                        *****

Abigail Thompson pressed her nose to the frosty window, breath fogging up the glass. Snowflakes danced like delicate fairies in the glow of the streetlamp outside.

 Her room was a sanctuary of stuffed animals and storybooks, each one a testament to her gentle heart.

"Another cold night," she whispered, tracing a star on the pane with her fingertip. Her gaze was tender, longing to wrap the whole world in a warm embrace. 

A flurry of movement caught her eye—a small shadow against the white blanket of snow. Abigail's heart skipped.

 A kitten, with fur fluffed against the chill. She could almost feel the icy touch on its tiny paws.

"Mom, look!" she called out, voice high with concern. "There's a little one outside!"

She watched as the kitten hesitated near the curb. It seemed to shrink away from the towering figures that passed it by, unaware of its plight.

"Nobody sees you, do they?" Abigail murmured, her chest tightening. 

The need to act pulsed through her—protect, keep warm, save.

"Sweetie, be careful," her mother's voice came from behind, soft but edged with caution.

"I will," Abigail promised, determination lighting up her features. She pulled on her boots, the laces tangling in her haste. "I just... I have to help."