His fierce loyalty was bred from a loneliness and abandonment he could not shake. It was all he could remember being worth: not enough.

So when the old woman gave him a job washing dishes, he left his hands hairless and pruned. Then it grew cold, and she was kind, and her intentions good – but he was not good enough to keep.

The epitome of “stray cat”, just like the old man called him. Worth tossing a scrap, a momentary kindness, but belonging to no one.

Why did no one ever want him?

Nick and Art (c) J. "Rehgan" Fitzmaurice