Leaking oil again? Come on, that’s the third time in three months. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Can’t I have one day of rest? I’m either feeding the animals, cleaning up their shit, or fixing something around here. I can’t just let the land go to waste—if I let the weeds and grass overgrow, they’ll take over everything. I wish I could just kill it all, but then what would Pinto eat?

  If it’s not the car, it’s the fence. If it’s not the fence, it’s the barn. And at the end of it all, I have to take care of that cat. I can’t take it anymore. He’s starting to walk now, barely, but I still have to carry him to his food, carry him to his litter box. And most of the time, when I’m busy with everything else, he ends up pissing himself, and I have to clean him up—him and the floor.

  I can’t even get decent sleep because he wakes me up all throughout the night. Why can’t he just hold it till morning? And the fucking smell—I want to rub his nose in it, but I know he can’t help it. How could I do that to him? He has so much trust in his eyes. I don’t know if I’m the only thing he can trust. Those big, round eyes look at me like I’m his whole world, like he believes that one day, he’ll be able to do all the things I’m begging for.

  Why? Why me? I had plans. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and it sure as hell wasn’t being stuck here a million trillion fucking miles away from anything. I wish I could just let everything die so I could get on with my life. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

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  I don’t even know if there’s something inside me that wants to make this place work. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. For a promise? I don’t think a promise is enough anymore, and I’m not even sure if I’m doing this for myself.

  I lay down on the floor, my back aching from the never-ending work. I thought I was fit, but this… this is something different. My eyes well up. Will I ever be able to do this? I don’t want to be a farmer for the rest of my life. I want to meet girls, go out with friends. Why did Grandpa have to choose me? This blessing is starting to feel like an isolating curse of never-ending work.

  I am so alone. I want to escape, but how could I?

  A soft scrape against my cheek. Again. And again.

  I open my eyes. It’s Scratch, sitting over me. He puts his little paw on my cheek and lays his head on my forehead. His purr sounds like the rattle of a spray can.

  Why am I so mad? He did nothing wrong. He’s just trying to live.

  “Scratch… I’m sorry.”

  I turn my body and hold him close. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean. You care so much about me, and all I’ve done is spit on you.”

  His little body presses into mine, warm and fragile.

  “I promise things will get better, buddy. You’ll get better. And I’ll take you to town.”

  The sky outside is starting to darken. I push myself up and stretch, my muscles aching in protest.

  “Come on, let’s go to bed. You can sleep at the foot.”