You watched as the little black cat shifted his paws on the hot pavement, his green eyes scanning the street like he was searching for answers that weren’t coming. His fur shimmered under the sun, sleek but ruffled in a way that made him look both proud and fragile. He muttered to himself in tiny, broken meows, like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t unwanted, just misunderstood. You could feel the ache in your chest—it wasn’t the cat’s fault, yet here he was, abandoned for something so cruelly silly.

Then, as if to hide the sadness, the cat perked up and flicked his tail, forcing a playful bounce into his step. He pawed at a leaf, rolled onto his side, and gave the world a look as if to say, “Fine, I’ll make my own fun then.”

The contradiction was heartbreaking—his loneliness cracked through every movement, but his spirit refused to break completely. You thought about how much he deserved a lap to curl into, someone to hear those little meows like they were words, someone to tell him that curses weren’t real, but love was.