John moved through the shadows of the unheated basement, his flashlight beam cutting through the damp chill. He followed the scratching toward a narrow stone ledge near the rafters, but he didn’t find a frightened, huddled pet. Instead, the beam caught a pair of glowing amber eyes. The kitten was pinned against the stone, its body vibrating with an intensity that looked like pure, desperate hunger. A few feet away, a large starling fluttered frantically.
With a burst of explosive energy, the kitten launched itself. It moved with a predatory grace that was jarring for its size, driven by a fervor that could only come from starvation. But as the bird escaped into a higher crevice, the kitten’s strength vanished. It didn’t give chase; it simply slumped, turning toward John with agonizingly slow movements. It crawled toward him, its legs trembling until it nearly collapsed at his boots, gasping for air. John scooped it up, his heart sinking. He wondered if they had been failing these creatures all along—maybe their refusal of milk wasn’t stubbornness, but a biological need for something else. “Fiona, get some meat!” he called out, rushing upstairs. “Maybe we’re feeding them the wrong things!”