5 Taken, 1 Fallen.

The garden smelled like dirt and anger. The sun was low, stretching long shadows across the grass, but the air felt cold, like the light itself was trying to slip away before night. I stood frozen, feeling smaller than the weeds pushing up between the stones, as my dad’s voice cut through the yard sharp and furious.

“They’ve been pooping in my garden again!” His boots crunched over the gravel with every step, making the ground feel like it shook beneath me. I barely dared to breathe.

My cats — my babies — waited by the fence, tails flicking anxiously. They had no idea what was about to happen.

“Come on!” my dad barked, pushing a heavy plastic tub toward me. “Pour the food. Get ‘em in here. I’m done with this.”

My hands shook as I peeled open the bag of kibble. The smell drifted on the air and brought them running. Snickers appeared first — her tortoiseshell fur catching the last golden light. Sabina stepped carefully behind her, her white paws so gentle they barely made a sound on the grass. Aurora’s yellow eyes shone bright like little marigolds. And then there was Tabitha — my sweet tabby girl. She was deaf, but she had the biggest heart. She couldn’t hear my voice, but she felt my footsteps, the soft vibrations of my heartbeat whenever she looked up at me. Her green eyes locked on mine — trusting, calm.

“Come here, Tabs…” I whispered even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. She felt my breath on her fur, brushing her side against my arm and purring louder — her way of saying, I feel you. I trust you.

I bent down and picked her up. She was warm and soft, her body tiny in my hands. I lowered her carefully into the tub, but I kept my hand inside. I couldn’t just close her away like that.

She sensed something was wrong. Her paws scrabbled at the plastic walls, claws slipping. Her eyes flickered with confusion and fear. She didn’t understand — she just wanted to be free. I wanted that too.

“Hold her down!” my dad snapped, voice cold and urgent.

“Wait — Dad — my hand’s still in —!” I cried out, panic twisting in my chest.

But he didn’t listen. The lid slammed down hard, crushing my fingers and pinning Tabitha’s tiny shoulders beneath the plastic. She let out a yowl — a sound I didn’t just hear, but felt deep in my bones. She couldn’t hear herself, but I could. It tore me apart.

“Dad! You’ve got my hand — you’ve got her —” I screamed.

He spat, “Stupid cat!” and yanked the lid back up. He grabbed her wrong — around her middle, squeezing tight. She kicked wildly, claws catching air, teeth sinking into his hand. I watched the blood drip onto her soft fur. His roar echoed in the yard, veins in his neck twisting like roots.

“OWWW! That’s it!” he shouted.

He put her down on the ground by his knee and pressed hard on her neck, strangling her. Her paws flailed, desperate. Her bright green eyes locked on mine one last time. I swear I heard her with my soul, begging, Why? Help me. Please.

I screamed so hard my throat burned. “Stop! Dad — please, please don’t kill her! STOP! PLEASE!”

My mom’s voice cracked from the porch, sharp and loud. “Get inside! Now! NOW!”

I tore my hand free, stumbling backward, my heart breaking into a million pieces. I ran. But I still felt her — the snap, the sudden silence that swallowed everything. I pressed my palms over my ears but it didn’t help. The silence she left behind was louder than anything.

Later, when I gathered what little strength I had, I asked my brother if Tabitha was dead. Even though I already knew. He shrugged, cold and careless. “Uh, yeah.”

I screamed again, so loud it hurt, “NOOOOOOO! MY TABITHA! MY BABY TABITHA!”

My dad told me to shut up. But I didn’t stop. Not then. Not ever.

After that, one by one, we put Snickers in the tub. And Sabina. And Aurora. Half a moon later, Ted and Raini too. They all went somewhere far away — some woods I’d never seen. But I know better.

They’re not gone.

They’re still here.

They’re my babies.

My deaf, sweet Tabitha — she hears me now. She feels every tear I shed. They all do.

They’re my warriors.

My stars.