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