The first cat he loved died when he was young.

Time weathered. Age hardened. Pain grew familiar.

But after the divorce, the scratch that cat had etched into his toddler-sized ring finger started stinging, and that wailing child reemerged, scarred by something he had assumed was exclusively soft and warm.

Tim Weighart grew up near Boston, but he lives in Colorado now. He enjoys words, and the trials that come with finding the right ones.