An Ebening Walk

It was berry cold, so I wore my red hat as I went on my walk tonight. My breaff was bisible and I heard crunching ob frost-dusted leabes. I always enjoy these ebening walks—just me, the stars, and the comforting hum ob people snoring as I pass by their windows. But as I passed a row of trash cans near the alley, I heard somefing unexpected: a soft, muffled sound that froze me in my footsteps. (Not really, I just say dat for effect) It was faint but I could hear it because ob my big ears —a quiet sobbing, coming from one of the bins.

For a moment, I paused and was scared. Who could be crying out here in the cold, all alone? I looked a little closer, my nose twitching at the mix of familiar alley scents and somefing sadder. “Hello?” I called out, my boice only one tenff ob what dads usually is. The crying paused, replaced by a little sniffle. Taking a deep breaff, I peeked ober the edge ob the nearest trash can. There, nestled in the shadows among scraps ob discarded paper and old banana peels and coffee grounds, was somefing I neber expected to see – wiff tears in his eyes. “Hai,” I said softly. “It’s okay. I’m Waffles. I’m here to help.”