Today is my birthday.
I woke up with a small flicker of excitement in my chest. The soft morning light streamed through the window and warmed the patch of floor where I always sleep. I stretched my legs and gave a gentle yawn, just like I do every morning—but today felt different. Today, I turned another year older.
I thought maybe… just maybe… they would remember.
I waited patiently by the bedroom door. Usually, my human opens it and greets me with a sleepy smile, scratching behind my ears and whispering, “Good morning, sweetheart.” I imagined them opening the door today with a special smile, scooping me up, and saying, “Happy Birthday!” Maybe they’d even have a little treat for me or sing a silly birthday song like I’ve seen them do for others.
But the door never opened.
Hours passed. I heard them get up, walk around, talk on the phone. I waited by the food bowl, tail curled neatly beside me. Maybe they were planning a surprise? Maybe the birthday moment was coming later?
But my breakfast came just like any other day—poured in quickly, without even a glance. No soft whispers, no special hugs, no candles, no wishes. Just the usual clang of the bowl on the floor.
It’s okay, I told myself. Maybe they’re just busy. Maybe they didn’t see the little calendar on the wall with a tiny paw print they drew for my birthday last year. Maybe they forgot.
I walked slowly to my favorite spot by the window. The sun was still shining, but it felt colder somehow. The birds outside chirped as they flew by, celebrating in their own way, and I wanted to tell them, “Today is my special day. Did you know?” But I didn’t say anything. I just watched in silence.
I remember when I was just a kitten—my first birthday here. My human had a little party just for me. They tied a soft ribbon around my neck, gave me a new toy mouse, and took pictures of me next to a tiny cake. I didn’t understand it then, but I remember how warm and loved I felt. I remember their laughter, their cuddles, their attention. I thought it would always be that way.
But as I’ve grown older, the ribbons stopped coming. The toys became less frequent. The excitement… faded.
Now, I sit by the window on my birthday, wondering if anyone still remembers. Wondering if I’m still loved the same way I was when I was small and new. Wondering if maybe being older means being forgotten.
Still, deep inside, I hold on to a tiny hope.
That maybe later today, someone will kneel down, look into my eyes, and say, “Happy birthday, my dear friend.” That maybe there will be a soft treat, a gentle stroke down my back, a moment—just one—where I feel like the most important cat in the world again.
But for now, it’s just me and the silence.
It’s my birthday, but no one wished me yet.
And that… that makes my heart feel heavy.
