Gemotions

The chipped ceramic cat on the table was cute, but Eleanor's gaze kept drifting to the dusty box at the end of the table. Something about it tugged at a distant memory. She approached slowly, the heat of the summer day suddenly forgotten.

A faded blue tag peeked out from beneath a moth-eaten blanket. Eleanor reached, her fingers trembling slightly. She lifted the blanket.

There he was. Barnaby. His button eyes were missing one, his fur matted and thin. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She couldn't breathe properly.

"Oh, my goodness," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The woman running the sale smiled kindly at her. "He's five dollars."