My life before Marta is a blur. I don’t want to think about it. Someone found me on the steps of an office and took me to the shelter. I remember that, but not much that happened before. I don’t even want to remember. Soon after Marta adopted me she took me to the vet. I liked him, in spite of the strange things he did to me. “I would guess Sterling is about two and a half years old, looking at his teeth.” What has teeth to do with age, I wondered.

There is only one thing from my past that I do remember and always will. At one time I had claws, and I loved to use them. I could defend myself. I felt strong, not afraid of any creature, regardless of size. Someone had them cut off, back and front!

I get so angry when I think of it that I claw and claw at the cushion on the bar stool. It is not the same as really having claws, however, and that makes me even angrier. Sometimes I take it out on Marta and do things I should not do. That is not fair, but I can’t seem to help myself. When Marta senses my anger she stands clear and throws fake mice at me. I try tearing them to pieces!

Maybe what I think is a handicap is not a handicap. Maybe it is my anger that I can’t seem to manage.

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