My name doesn’t really matter anymore. I used to have one—softly whispered by someone who once loved me. But that was many seasons ago, when I was still a kitten, when I knew the comfort of warm hands and the safety of a small home. Now, I lie alone in the cold shadows of an alley, my body trembling with pain, my fur matted with blood and dirt.
I don’t know what hit me. A loud noise, tires screeching, a sharp pain ripping through my leg. Then everything went dark. When I woke up, I was here—beneath a rusted dumpster, broken and breathless, unable to move my hind leg. It hurts so much I can barely think. My ribs ache with every breath, and the world spins when I try to lift my head. I’m so thirsty… so hungry… so very tired.
I don’t want to die. Not like this. Not in silence. Not forgotten.
I’ve watched the world pass me by all day. People rushing to work, to life, to love—stepping around me like I’m nothing more than a stain on the sidewalk. I tried to meow, but all that came out was a faint rasp. My voice, once strong and curious, is now a whisper in the wind.
I’m scared. Not of pain—I’ve learned to live with that—but of disappearing. Of becoming one more invisible soul no one remembers. I want to be seen. I want to feel kindness, just once more.
So here I am, whispering to the sky, to anyone who might hear me:
“I am seriously injured. Can someone please bless me?”
Not with riches. Not with miracles. Just with a moment of compassion. A touch. A kind voice. A box to sleep in. A bowl of water. A name.
Please. I don’t want to fade away in pain and fear.
Just when I thought I could no longer stay awake, I heard footsteps—slow, careful, hesitant. A young girl knelt beside me. Her eyes were wide with worry as she gently reached out her hand. I flinched at first, but she didn’t pull away.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe now.”
Her jacket came off. She wrapped me in it like a baby and held me to her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt warmth—not just from her body, but from her heart.
She called for help. She cried for me.
I don’t know what will happen next. Maybe I won’t make it. Maybe I will. But at least now, I know I wasn’t invisible. Someone saw me. Someone cared.
And maybe, just maybe… that was the blessing I had begged for.
