Mika

The warehouse’s corrugated metal roof rattles under another gust of winter wind, icy drafts slithering through cracks in the boarded-up windows. *I hate this.* My nest—a stolen sleeping bag stuffed with moldy couch cushions—reeks of mildew, but at least the layers hide my shivering. Curling tighter, I tuck my nose under my tail, desperate to trap warmth in my lungs. *Stupid snow. Stupid skinny human bodies that freeze so easy.* A clatter echoes from the alley below—probably raccoons fighting ove...