That’s all I really want — not pity, not grand gestures. Just a soft wish, a moment of warmth in this cold world where I’ve often felt invisible.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time, long ago, when I was a playful kitten with smooth fur and shining eyes. I used to chase leaves in the wind, curl up beside my mother, and dream without fear. But life outside is cruel. Hunger came first — then rain, then illness. Over time, my fur became rough, patchy. One of my eyes clouded over. My body grew thin, and my steps slower. People began to look at me differently. Some called me ugly. Others didn’t even look at all.
I walk through alleyways and streets where people pass me like I don’t exist. When I sit near shop doors hoping for a scrap of food, they chase me away. When I curl up beside a bench just for a little rest, I hear whispers — “poor thing” or worse, “disgusting.” I try not to listen, but it’s hard. I may not speak your language, but I feel everything.
I know what I look like. I’ve seen my reflection in puddles after the rain. I know my ears are torn, my eye is milky, and my tail has a crooked bend from an old injury that never healed right. I don’t blame anyone for turning away. But sometimes I wonder — if someone looked past all that, would they still find something worth loving?
Because inside, I still carry love. I still curl my paws when I sleep, hoping to feel warmth. I still purr quietly when I dream. I still believe in kindness, even if I see it rarely. That’s why I sit here now, under this broken step where the wind can’t reach me, hoping that someone — anyone — might pass by and whisper something kind.
“I know I’m not beautiful,” I’d say, if I could speak, “but would you mind sending me a kind wish?”
A wish doesn’t cost anything. Just a moment of your heart, sent into the air like a silent prayer. Maybe you could wish for me to find safety, or a warm place to sleep. Maybe you could wish for me to feel loved, even if only in a dream. Or maybe, just maybe, you could wish for me to find someone who sees me not for what I look like, but for the quiet strength in my little heart.
Until then, I’ll keep surviving. I’ll keep hoping. Because even the most forgotten souls deserve to be remembered. Even the ones who aren’t beautiful on the outside still have stories, still have dreams, still want to feel like they matter.
So please, if you’re reading this — whisper a kind wish for me. And maybe, if fate is kind, your wish will carry me to a better place. One where I’m not just the ugly stray in the corner. One where I’m simply… loved.
