My stomach sours and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as I take in the trail of blood on the floor. No. Acid works up my throat as I round the small corner to my bed. I inhale a sharp breath when I find Whiskers on the floor in front of my bed. With her throat slashed. I clench my fists, my chest recoiling as I stare at the mutilated kitten. This was a warning. And if she’s not careful…it will only get worse.
