Free to a Good Home

I remember when she told me she couldn't help me anymore. The cage wrapped its arms around me in triumph as I peered out desperately. Her words floated away, no feeling to anchor them. She didn't look me in my eyes - only sideways glances - like I wasn't even there. Like I was a stain on the carpet.

She dropped the plate with a clang and averted her gaze, hoping not to make contact with me even though I reached for her, pawing for her touch. It was the smell of her that struck me, that made me think she could help me. That made me want to curl up in the crook of her elbow and nestle into her bosom, all lavender and soft flesh. Her musky, coffee tainted breath warmed my scabbed and torn coat.

The sound of blue escaped my mouth, tumbled out and wound around her like a rusty tired wheel, then settled in her ears. Breath left her abruptly and salted tears pooled in the hollow caves under her green eyes. Her skirt fell out from her waist and swished as she twisted and rose, her heels clip clop click on the cement floor. The stairs beckoned to her and she began the creaky climb to her decrepit kitchen.

On the fourth step, she paused and something in her eyes allowed the arms of the cage to loosen. My soul leaped. Her feet flew across the floor and she rushed the cage like a bull. Metal scraped on metal as she maneuvered the latch to the right. My wet nose buffeted the bars impatient with their timing.

As the door began to open, a voice boomed from above. “Dorothy! Leave that damn dog alone! I need him rested for the fight tonight.” Heavy soled boots thunked down the top of the stairs. The door clanged shut and the latch slid back across the lock. The plate of picked over food levitated with her and disappeared up the staircase. I heard it scrape, splat into the garbage along with my hope.

Word Count: 344