My name doesn’t really matter. Most people simply call me “One-Eye.” It used to make me sad. I wasn’t always like this, you know. I used to have two bright, curious eyes, both filled with wonder and hope. I remember chasing butterflies in the sun, playing with dry leaves, and watching the stars from rooftops. But that was before the accident. Before the world took something from me.
It happened one cold night on the streets. I was trying to find food—anything to fill my tiny belly. I wandered too close to a road I shouldn’t have. The screech of tires. A sharp, burning pain. Then darkness. When I woke up, everything felt strange. I was dizzy, scared. One of my eyes wouldn’t open. I tried, but it was gone. Just… gone.
After that, the world looked different. Depth felt strange. Lights were too bright. Shadows played tricks on me. Worse than that, humans looked at me differently. They would turn away, wrinkle their noses, or whisper things like, “Poor thing… so ugly now.”
For a long time, I believed them.
I hid myself away—under porches, inside dumpsters, behind broken fences. I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want the world to pity me. I was just a broken cat with one eye. Who would ever love me?
Then she came.
It was raining hard that day, and I had curled up beneath an old cardboard box behind a restaurant. I was cold, hungry, and wet. That’s when I heard footsteps. Soft ones. A gentle voice followed: “Hey there, little one… are you alright?”
I peeked out. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t call me names. She just knelt down, her umbrella shielding me from the rain. Her eyes were kind. Her hands were warm.
She took me home that night. She wrapped me in a towel and gave me warm food. She talked to me as if I was perfect. She called me “her little warrior.” I didn’t know what that meant, but it made my heart feel full.
Days passed, and I slowly began to trust again. I learned that even with one eye, I could still see the sunlight dance through the curtains. I could see birds perch on the window sill. I could see her smile every time I jumped into her lap. I could see the kindness in her gaze, the way she looked at me like I was a treasure—not a tragedy.
Even with one eye, I began to see the world differently.
I saw how a soft touch could heal invisible wounds. I saw how patience could mend a broken soul. I saw how love could find you, even when you thought you were unlovable.
Now, I sit on my favorite spot on the window ledge every morning, looking out at the world I once feared. I see beauty in the smallest things—the way the leaves rustle in the wind, the way children laugh as they walk past, the way the sun warms my fur.
You see, I may only have one eye. But with it, I see more than I ever did with two. I see life. I see hope. I see love.
And that’s more than enough for me.
