By Will H. Blackwell, Jr.

A friend, leaving unexpectedly (trouble with “the law?”), sought a home for his still-unnamed rescue-cat, wondering if I …?

Foolishly, I said, “Yes.”

The little creature was intriguing—purest white! Purring softly as snowfall, it would ‘round up,’ snuggling.

Unimaginatively, I named it “Snowball.”

Undemanding, but seemingly inattentive, it didn’t learn its name.

Eyes crystal-blue—it made odd, squeaking sounds. I thought: You don’t even know how to meow!—eventually discovering, sadly, it was stone-deaf—a genetic-disorder among white, blue-eyed cats.

Evenings, though, if I shine laser-lights upon the wall, Snowball livens—chasing the moving dots like summer fireflies.

“I like writing about uncertain situations, that just might turn out all right in the long-run.” – the writer

2 thoughts on “Snowball

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