Essay 2: Retractable claws

It was an experimental prison program.
For the most hardened criminals doing life.

The most dangerous of them, #201A, was given a rescue cat to take care of.

#201A was a bit of a feline himself. Feral. Kept to himself. Never spoke. Walked with such beautiful grace that it almost seemed wrong. Eyes unblinking, expressionless, always lazily alert.

The spring in his step was not as sprightly as the term usually connotes. It was more like the rhythmic controlled release and recalling of the tension in a tightly coiled spring. Of rage. Of anger. Of savage fury.

Which no one ever cared to probe or provoke.

When handed the cat, along with instructions on why and how he should care for it, he reached out, retracted his claws so as not to hurt it, and padded away.