“Oh, buddy,” she whispered, cupping his squishy Persian face. “What happened?”
That night, as Sophie scrolled through photos of pristine, dry-faced show cats, Mochi climbed onto her chest. He kneaded her collarbone with his claws (ouch) and pressed his damp, stained cheek against her chin. A tiny tear—real or saline-flushed, she couldn’t tell—rolled onto her skin. blocked tear ducts in cats
Dr. Lian pressed the plunger. For a second, nothing happened. Then a clear, salty fluid spurted out of Mochi’s nostril. “Oh, buddy,” she whispered, cupping his squishy Persian
Mochi sneezed indignantly, spraying a fine mist of saline across the table. He looked affronted, as if to say, How dare you unclog my dignity. For a second, nothing happened
Mochi opened one clear, amber eye. Then the other, stained and wet. He let out a tiny mrp of contentment, closed them both, and dreamed of birds he would never catch, in a world where even his tears had nowhere to go but down his perfect, squishy face.