A Refuge for Ginger Tom

Ginger Tom liked the warmth in this room. He dried snow-speckled fur by the flickering heat and knew he was safe from dogs and rivals. It was a good room. But lately the growing young humans with their flailing limbs and stamping feet posed a different sort of danger. They barely noticed him as they charged around, never dropped fish scraps on the boards for him to pounce on now. Their incessant yowling at each other pierced his resting hours. He narrowed his eyes and flicked the tip of his tail as the tallest banged his way out of the room, letting a puff of frosty air take his place. Before the season turned, Ginger Tom would need to find a new refuge.