ABSTRACT
It didn’t take more than twenty minutes for the dainty, flitty, fawnish girl to follow her crooked neck exploring, then winding weaving on her spindly dancer’s legs to deciding. The “runt of the litter who’d fit well with the other” must have been pet and kissed endlessly by her rescuer. But what about the other? Here a week before her, a month younger, two months cuter, a little black bear size bigger. But his fear reigned. Even his funny tail, fur frosted off it towards its end from a short life of hiding out in secret, icy abandonment, barely fluttered. Hissing hard scrabble street hanging in the one seventeenth and second community garden: “and Dr. G, aint no kitten there, cat don’t play, don’t purr, don’t clean… quiet and scurred, only howling in the hall at midnight.”
