Everyone says orange tabbies can't bond, but Orange would wipe my tears with his tail. The winter I lost my parents to a car crash, I hid in the closet every night. One morning, I found half a dried sardine wedged through the door crack – two weeks' worth of Orange's rations.
I started delivering takeout with him riding in the bike basket. He'd flatten his ears like airplane wings when strangers approached. Then came the night a drunk man grabbed my delivery box, spewing curses. Gentle Orange suddenly leapt, leaving three bloody gashes on his arm.
Police reviewing the footage marveled: "This cat acts trained!" They didn't see Orange trembling against my neck that night, his paw still bleeding. Now his collar holds a tiny camera, but I know my true guardian isn't technology – it's the sardine jerky forever reserved in my closet.
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