They picked me… Me! A cripple, a failure… And yet they still chose me!
Every time people came by, I held my breath. I tried to look presentable—licking my fur clean, washing my face carefully, tucking my paws neatly. It was no use. They always picked the others—the playful ones, the agile ones, the ones who could leap and bound without a second thought. And there I stayed, curled up in my tiny cage, stiff with pain and shame, not daring to even meow. My hind legs were weak, I could barely run, so I was invisible. A cripple. Unwanted. A failure.
But today… today, a miracle happened. The cage door opened—not for a jab, not for a check-up. Someone lifted me into their arms. I heard the man whisper:
“Light as a feather. What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one. If you like, you can give him one. But honestly, you’d better pick one of the healthier ones—this one, what’s the point?”
“This one is special. Will he love me?”
Love? Me? Are you serious? You want me to love you? Me? A pathetic, broken thing no one else would glance at? If you take me, I swear—I’ll be the best! I’ll purr every morning, I’ll play, I’ll try. I’ll learn, I’ll practise—I’ll get stronger, prettier. I’ll earn your love. Please… take me…
I remember once, one of the staff said right in front of me:
“Just put him down. How long are we keeping this poor excuse of a cat? No use, no chance.”
That was the first time I was truly afraid. I curled into the corner, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. I listened as the footsteps faded and thought only one thing: *Not now. I don’t want to die. Let me live just a little longer… just long enough to see life outside this cage…*
I had nothing—no toys, no blanket. Just an old feather I hid under a scrap of cloth, batting it around when no one was looking. It was my only treasure. When the man came, I couldn’t help it—I nudged the feather toward him.
“Take this too. Please… If you don’t want me, at least let the feather belong to someone.”
But he took me. And the feather.
Now I have a name. They call me Feather. I live in a house. Yes, still in a separate room at first, just to make sure I’m alright. But it’s not a cage. It’s warm. There’s food. Toys. People who stroke me. I’m learning to walk again—step by step, along the wall, slowly. They trimmed my claws but gave me a scratching post.
I don’t complain. I don’t whine. I just live. And I’m grateful for every second. Because now I have a Human. Mine. He chose me—despite everything. So I have to be worthy of that choice.
There’s so much I want to say, but words fail me. All I feel is my heart pounding: *alive… alive… alive…*
Please, don’t walk past ones like me. We’re not always pretty. Not always healthy. But we’re living. We feel, we hope, we dream. And if you ever visit a shelter—look for the eyes full of waiting. Not pity—hope. To be wanted. To be loved. To matter to someone.
I’m Feather. I was nobody. Now I’m someone’s beloved cat. And that—that’s a whole universe.