My name? I don’t have one. No one ever gave me one. I suppose I was just another face in the alley, another dirty, scruffy creature the world had forgotten. I live behind a row of restaurants in the backstreets of the city, where the smell of leftover food draws stray animals like me. I sleep on torn cardboard when I’m lucky, or under dumpsters when I’m not. Every night, I shiver in the cold, and every morning, I wake up to the sound of people passing me by like I don’t exist.
I know I’m not pretty. My fur is patchy and dull. One of my ears is torn from a fight I barely survived. My left eye is cloudy from an old infection. Children sometimes point and say, “Ew, that cat looks scary.” Adults just glance and look away.
But once, a long time ago, I was a kitten—soft, playful, full of hope. I remember the warmth of a hand petting me, the sound of laughter when I chased a string. But that was before I was abandoned. Before I learned how cruel the world could be to creatures like me.
Sometimes, I watch other cats get scooped up by kind strangers. They’re beautiful—white, fluffy, bright-eyed. People smile when they see them. I don’t blame them. Who would want a cat like me?
Still… I have a heart that longs to be loved. I still purr when I hear gentle voices, even if they’re not talking to me. I still dream—dream of a window to sit by, of warm laps and quiet nights where I’m not cold, not alone.
I know I’m an ugly cat… but would anyone feel sorry for me?
Would anyone take a moment to see past the scars, the dirt, the rough edges, and notice that I’m still alive inside? That I still feel pain, still crave comfort? That deep down, I just want to be loved?
I sit here tonight under the same stars as you, wishing, hoping… that maybe, just maybe, someone out there will look beyond what they see and open their heart to a cat who’s never known what “forever” feels like.
