“Why must your love come in rations, Mother?” I purred, sprawled in a ribbon of sunlight, watching her cradle the others. “Am I not just as lovely?”

They call this place a palace, and so it is — golden drapes, silken cushions, and the softest light that ever kissed a cat’s fur. My name is Rosella. I am the finest Persian in this house, and perhaps, the loneliest.—in fact my owner, Ara, is the pr...