Preety Sidhu

My Boyfriend Is a Wounded Animal I Want to Save Share article We met in a bookstore, the Strand. The late nineties. I was trying to decide between E. B. White’s books, the pig or the swan or the mouse. He saw me deliberating. For my sister’s kid, I told him. “The mouse,” he said, with appealing confidence. He had chin-length hair, a square jaw like Kurt Cobain’s. “I’m Edgar.” “Susannah.” Edgar said he identified with the mouse, a New Yorker like him, born inexplicably into a family of humans.