Identifying Tone & Mood

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I nearly overlooked him: his dingy coat blended in with the house's exterior wall and the worn grey cement sidewalk. As I approached, he followed me with his eyes, but made no movement that he heard me, even though the wagon I pulled rattled loudly. I pulled the makeshift cart closer so I could transport him to safety. Snatching the coats hanging on the line outside, I made a bed for him; it was the least his owners could do after starving him to near death. Stooping, I whispered nonsense to him, softly stroking his rough fur. Patchy in places, crusted with filth in others. The knobby bones of his spine were stretching against his back. I wondered how his skin was not tearing open, it was so fragile. Gently scooping him up, I placed him on the wagon and began walking down the hill.