I wasn’t always like this. There was a time, long ago, when I was soft, small, and clean. My fur was once snow white—before the dirt, the rain, the wounds, and the years turned it dull and gray. My whiskers were long and proud, and my eyes used to sparkle. But that was before I was thrown away. Before I learned that not all lives are filled with warmth and kindness.
Now, I sit alone in a dark corner of the shelter. I don’t cry anymore. I gave up crying when I realized no one was listening. My body is thin, bones pressing against my skin like cold reminders of the meals I’ve missed. My tail has a kink in it from a long-healed break, and my face… well, I’ve seen it in the reflection of the metal water bowl. Scarred, tired, ugly.
I hear them whisper when they pass my cage.
“Poor thing…”
“He looks sick.”
“Let’s look at the kittens instead.”
No one stops to pet me. No one asks about me. Children press their hands to the glass for the others—the fluffy ones, the playful ones—but when they see me, they pull back. I don’t blame them. I know what I look like.
I know I’m so ugly nobody loves me or even comes near me.
And yet… I still want love. I still want to rest my head in someone’s lap and feel fingers stroke the space between my ears. I still want to hear someone say, “You’re safe now.” Even if just once.
Sometimes, when the lights go out at night and the shelter grows quiet, I dream. I dream of a house that smells like bread, with a sunlit window where I can sleep. I dream of a human who sees me—not my matted fur, not my damaged face, but me. The cat inside. The one who still remembers how to purr, even if no one has given me a reason in years.
But morning always comes. And the footsteps return. And I go back to pretending I’m asleep—because pretending hurts less than hoping.
Still, if someone out there is listening… if someone out there believes that love isn’t about looks, but about loyalty, patience, and quiet companionship… I’m here. Waiting. Even if I’m ugly. Even if I’m broken. I still believe I can love. And I still hope—just a little—that maybe, someday, someone will love me too.
