I wasn't always a calico, you know

  I was born a tiny kitten

  Covered from nose to tail in downy fluff

  White as a cloud, soft as as a dream, sticking out every which way

  Frolicking and tumbling, without a care in the world

  Heedless of the rust around me

  The more I grew, the harder it became not to see it

  Fences, chains, machinery

  Loose blades hanging on the wall, nails sticking out of the floorboards

  All long-forgotten, succumbing to inevitable decay

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  With every step my fur was stained orange

  Every fall opened wounds, spilled blood to soak in

  My hackles raising instinctively the more I recognize the danger all around

  I haven't yet figured out how to lower them

  Whatever you see before you now, it wasn't always here

  And what was here... is gone.

  Maybe someday it'll come back, but I can't say I'm all that hopeful

  And even if it did, what are the chances it'd survive this time?

  This place was made for calicos

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