‘Marty’ by Kevin Sandefur

She first spotted him through the kitchen window as she rinsed out her morning coffee cup. He was the biggest cat she’d ever seen, but he wasn’t fat. He was just, well, big. His matted fur was the colour of rusted iron at sunset, but it did nothing to hide his ribs. He was missing a hind leg, and she wondered how he managed to perch on the back-porch rail. Highlights of grey around his whiskers made him look unusually old for a feral, but mostly he just looked a mess. And hungry. He looked hungry.

There were two leftover pieces of bacon still on her plate by the sink. Don’t feed him, she told herself. He’ll just keep coming back. As she watched, the cat turned and looked straight at her, more or less. It was hard to tell, since his eyes pointed in slightly different directions. He can’t see me through the window, she thought, but the cat kept staring. Oh, well, she finally told herself, I’ll probably never see him again. She took the plate outside.