I was snuggled up for a nap, covered in hay scraps, filled with mice, and the sound of a grass-eating monster in the distance. Barley was out for a walk to get some fresh air; he says barn air gets to you after a while. Before I could even close my eyes, there was a sudden yowl outside the barn door. I quickly sprang to my paws and scurried to it. I could tell that something was wrong by the strong scent of blood. Almost right outside a small, fuzzy, gray tabby, who was very plump for a she-cat, was almost gasping for breath.
I stood there, too shocked to act. A kittypet collar was tight around her neck; blood was trickling from her mouth and pads. 'I-It's ok. I'm g-going to help you," I stammered. I clamped my teeth over the collar, tugging at it fiercely. Finally after a few hard tugs, she was free. She gasped deeply but coughed and rasped. I nudged her to her paws with my nose and draped my sleek fluffy tail over her shoulders. I guided her into the barn but she suddenly fell on the hay stalks and hard sand, falling into a deep sleep. I curled up beside her, licking at her wounded neck. Barley would be back soon and I would have to tell him the whole thing.
