I wasn’t always blind. I remember the early days of my life when I could still see faint colors, shapes, and the warm light of the morning sun. I was born in a forgotten alleyway behind a marketplace, where scraps of food were rare and kindness even rarer. My mother tried her best to keep us warm and fed, but life was unforgiving. One by one, my siblings disappeared—some taken, some too weak to survive. I was the only one left.
As the days passed, my eyes began to ache. At first, it was just discomfort, something I thought would pass. But the pain grew worse, and everything around me started to blur. The faces of people, the outlines of buildings, even the sun I once loved—all faded into darkness. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I just knew I was losing the only thing that helped me navigate the cruel world.
And then, I was completely blind.
At first, I was terrified. I cried out, bumping into walls, unable to find food or shelter. People walked by me, some glancing down with disgust, others not noticing me at all. I remember one rainy night, curled up under a broken wooden crate, shivering and starving. A man kicked the crate as he passed, unaware that I was hiding there. My fragile body slammed against the pavement, but I was too weak to even cry.
I am a blind cat who has endured so much pain. I long for the love and kindness of others.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted—just one gentle hand, one voice that speaks softly to me. I don’t need much. I don’t need to see the world to know what love feels like. I can sense it in the way someone touches me, in the way they hold me close. I dream of that warmth every night, even though my days are filled with cold and fear.
Sometimes I wander toward the sound of footsteps, hoping that maybe this time, someone will stop. That they’ll notice my trembling frame, my hollow cheeks, my closed eyes. But most keep walking. I suppose I’m not what people look for in a pet. I’m not cute or playful. I can’t chase toys or jump onto windowsills. I can only sit quietly and hope someone will choose me anyway.
I still believe someone will.
Because despite everything—despite the hunger, the loneliness, the darkness—I have not stopped loving. My little heart still beats with hope. I still nuzzle against kind hands when I find them. I still purr when someone speaks to me with affection. And if someone ever takes me home, I will show them more loyalty and love than they’ve ever known. Not because I owe them, but because love is all I have left to give.
I don’t know how many days I have left out here. Some nights, the cold bites too deep, and I wonder if I’ll make it to morning. But until my last breath, I will wait—for someone with a heart big enough to love a blind, broken cat.
Because in the end, I may not have eyes that see, but I still have a soul that feels.
And I’m still waiting.
