I’ve wandered these streets for as long as I can remember. Each day blends into the next, marked only by the sunrise and the scraps of food I manage to find. But today feels different. There’s a faint memory stirring within me—a faint recollection of warmth, joy, and a special treat. Today is my birthday.
It’s been ten years, and in all that time, I haven’t seen what a birthday cake looks like. I only have hazy memories of my first few years. Back then, I had a family. I remember little hands that stroked my fur and a soft bed by the fireplace. On one special day, they lit candles on a cake and sang a song just for me. I didn’t know what it all meant, but I could feel their love and excitement. It was the happiest I’ve ever been.
Then one day, everything changed. I was left behind during a move. Days turned into weeks, and I realized they weren’t coming back. I learned to survive, to scavenge and hide, but I never stopped longing for the love I once knew.
As I wander the streets today, my paws aching from the cold pavement, I see people bustling about. Some of them glance at me with pity; others pretend I’m invisible. A bakery’s window catches my eye. Inside, a little girl points excitedly at a birthday cake covered in frosting and candles. My heart aches, not for the cake itself, but for the warmth and love it represents—something I haven’t felt in a decade.
I curl up in my usual spot under the old oak tree, my body shivering against the evening chill. The stars begin to appear, their twinkling light my only companions. I close my eyes and imagine a different world. In this world, someone remembers me. They bring a small cake, sing a soft song, and pat my head, telling me I’m loved.
But reality is colder. I open my eyes and see the shadows of passing cars and hear the distant laughter of families gathering for the night. I wonder if anyone out there even knows it’s my birthday. Would it matter to them if they did?
Even though my life has been hard, I still hold onto hope. Maybe one day, someone will see me for more than just a stray. Maybe one day, I’ll feel the warmth of a home again. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll see what a birthday cake looks like once more.
Until then, I’ll keep dreaming, and I’ll keep surviving. Because even in the harshest moments, hope is the one thing that keeps my tail wagging.
