A cat doesn't need a name, not really. But after eating enough fish, one might just earn one. That's how it wa…
A cat doesn't need a name, not really. But after eating enough fish, one might just earn one.
That's how it was with Finny. Even when she was no bigger than a fist, she'd sit quietly by the fishermen, patient as a stone.
Amused, they'd toss her small fish. That's when they noticed her peculiar taste: she would always, always pick out the brocade carp first.
From a heap of silvery catch, she'd find the gold and white, the spotted and red, and carry them off to eat in private.
Worried she'd choke on the bones, they'd watch her.
They needn't have bothered. With the precision of a born hunter, she'd lay down a perfect, clean-picked skeleton as if presenting a gift.
And so, a little cat without a name was given one: Finny.