Author EditorReading 6 minViews 150Published by 20.06.2025Modified by 20.06.2025
🧯 He saved her from the fire 🐾 and ever since, she’s stayed perched on his shoulder.
We thought there was nothing left to do.
We thought all hope was lost. The alarm was already ringing as flames consumed the second floor of an old warehouse—supposedly abandoned—filled with old boxes, frayed wires, and dust… But someone was still inside.
He was the first to go in through the curtain of smoke. Duffield — helmet number 31. A quiet man, mustached, not much of a talker. But always the first to act.
One minute passed. Then three.
The chief was about to call a retreat. And suddenly, Duffield returned — gasping, covered in soot, holding a tiny, trembling ball of fur.
Burned in some places, terrified, but alive.
He wrapped her in a towel and never let her go. During the whole ride back to the fire station, no one dared take her from his arms.
“She’s seen enough strangers today,” he murmured.
Everyone expected him to take her to a vet, or drop her off at a shelter.
But that night, she fell asleep inside his helmet, as if she’d found her place.
By morning, she had jumped onto his shoulder — as if she had always been there.
Since then, she never leaves him. She nibbles from his lunchbox. She sleeps in his locker.
And every time the alarm sounds, she leaps onto his shoulder, making sure he comes back.
But there’s one thing no one says out loud:
She only purrs when he holds her.
And on one of her little paws, there remains a dark mark — like a trace of ash no amount of washing can remove.
Duffield calls it “her reminder.”
Sometimes, I catch him looking at it for a long time, like he too needs that reminder.
