In the corner of the quiet room, little Kassy sat hunched over, her tiny back rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Her fur was soft but dull, her eyes wide but distant. And then—suddenly—she reached for her own toes.
Not to play. Not to explore.
But to bite.
Again.
A tiny, painful squeak escaped her lips as her teeth met skin. She flinched from the sting, but didn’t stop. It was like she didn’t know what else to do with the fear, confusion, and sadness burning inside her tiny body.
She was too young to understand the pain she’d been through.
Too small to speak her needs.
So she attacked herself, the only outlet her mind could find.
“Kassy, no! No, baby!” a soft voice cried.
Her rescuer rushed in, kneeling down and gently pulling her hands away from her bleeding toes. Kassy looked up, startled and scared. She didn’t understand what was wrong—only that she felt wrong inside.
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she examined the little wounds, already red and swollen. She scooped Kassy into her arms, wrapped her in a towel, and rocked her slowly.
“You’re safe now, sweetheart. No more hurting.”
But safety doesn’t erase trauma overnight.
Kassy whimpered, pressing her face into the woman’s chest. Her hands twitched, as if they still wanted to attack her own body out of habit. But the warmth of that hug—steady, human, loving—held her still.
It would take time.
Soft words. Warm milk. Quiet moments.
Day by day…
To help Kassy learn she doesn’t have to hurt to be seen.
