I wasn’t even planning to stop. I had groceries in the backseat, and my phone was at 5%. But I saw him lying by the curb, head barely up, ribs showing, one ear bent like it’d been torn long ago.

He didn’t run when I got close. Just kind of looked at me, like he already knew I wasn’t gonna hurt him. His legs were trembling when he tried to stand, and I swear, the moment I crouched down, he limped straight over and collapsed into my lap like we’d known each other forever.

That was two weeks ago. I named him Mello, even though his energy is anything but. He follows me room to room, tries to jump in my lap while I’m working, cooking, even once when I was brushing my teeth. Doesn’t matter that his body’s still healing—he needs to be touching me.

I took him to the vet the next morning. Mange, a lung infection, two cracked ribs, and something weird on his X-ray they couldn’t quite identify. They gave me meds, warned me it was gonna be expensive. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t leave him.

I sleep on the couch now because it’s lower, and he whines if I’m out of reach. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since I brought him home, but I don’t even mind.