Another lonely afternoon. The creek whispers secrets I can't understand, secrets carried on the wind... secrets like why she left.

A rustle in the bushes... probably just a rabbit. I should go home. Grandma's waiting with soup that tastes like cardboard and silence.

Wait... those aren't rabbit ears. Those are... pointy?

Aww... you're all alone too, aren't you? Like me.

Grandma says we can't keep it. "Too much trouble," she says. Like I'm not enough trouble already.

But...but he's hungry and scared! And he needs someone!

She sighed. That's it. That's my leverage. Grandma's a sucker for a good sigh.

"Fine," she grumbled. "But you're taking care of it. Feeding, cleaning... everything. And if it sheds on the furniture, it's your fault."

I named him Willow. Because he came from the creek, and because he's as bendy and resilient as a willow branch. Just like me, I hope.

Willow Creek still whispers secrets. But now, they don't sound so lonely anymore. They sound like... home.