Home woke up in a damp corner of his owner's apartment.
He licked the damp carpet, his throat was very dry and he needed water and was very
dehydrated.
He was only 1 year old and he was already living a terrible life.
His owner, an old man named Stanley (anyone see the connection there?) walked into the room and sat in his rocking chair like he did everyday.
Home looked up from the carpet and walked over next to Stanley's lap and rested his head on the old man's lap, Home's eyes were wide and hopeful.
Stanley looked down and glared at Home, he hit him hardly on the head with his newspaper which he had in his hand.
"Get back in your corner!!!" He boomed.
Home whimpered and ran over to the corner, he looked down and continued licking the damp carpet which tasted of sewer water and because Home hasn't been outside to go the bathroom since he came here it also tasted of his own urine.
Home wrinkled his muzzle in distaste and whimpered.
Stanley got up and stretched, "Alright what's for breakfast."
He said as he went to fridge and brought out his toaster, moldy butter and bread.
He threw one piece of moldy bread to Home, and Home whimpered.
"Be thankful! It's all you get to eat for a week."
Stanley lost his job a few weeks ago and was still looking for a new job but he has already given up on getting a job.
Home had short but floppy ears, his ribs where showing and he could feel fleas and ticks all over his skin underneath his fur which was covered in dirt and mud.
In this small apartment food was days away and sometimes your poop, water was sewer water mixed with urine, and days were years.
In this place Home didn't know if he was dead or alive.