God watches over the animal in the freezer in the garage. Hair raises on the back of its neck. Under the door, blue-gray in the darkness, warm light nuzzles its face just slightly through the gap. How alien, this light. You are too loud. If I touch you I shall burn myself. The animal is too cold to lift its head. Yes, I am familiar with the scent of these packets of frozen meat and peas and ice cream. This is my bed. I don't like you.
Those nice people are behind the door. I hear them laughing and talking in Hell. They're very nice people, but I am tired. I am also too cold to shiver. They're very nice people, but they're not my people.
I forget it sometimes. To be a pet. Maybe once. Now I am beginning to forget what it was like, and the faces of human beings more frequently look foreign. I pray they are cared for, yet at the same time, they feel nothing more to me than strange mouths with differentiated teeth. I forget their language. I have no desire to be near them, when once I trotted alongside a human companion. Nice people, but not my people.