They picked me… Me! A cripple, a failure… And yet they chose me!
Every time people came, I froze. I tried to look presentable—licking my fur, cleaning my face, tucking my paws neatly. It was no use. They always picked others—playful, agile, happy ones. I stayed behind in my cramped cage, curled up in pain and hurt, too afraid to even meow. My hind legs were weak; I couldn’t run well. So I was invisible. Broken. Unwanted.
But today… today, a miracle happened. The cage opened—not for an injection, not for a check-up. Arms reached in and lifted me. I heard the man whisper:
“Light as a feather. What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one. You can give him one if you like. But maybe pick a healthier one? This one… why would you want him?”
“He’s special. Will he love me?”
Love you? Me?! Do you mean it? You want me—me, the runt, the unwanted—to love you? If you take me, I promise, I’ll be the best. I’ll purr every morning, play, try harder. I’ll learn, I’ll train—I’ll grow strong and beautiful. I’ll earn your love. Please… take me.
I remember once, a worker muttered near me:
“Should just put it down. Why keep this poor thing locked up? No use, no chances.”
That was the first time I truly felt fear. I pressed into the corner, breathless, motionless. Footsteps faded, and all I could think was: *Not now. I don’t want to die. Just let me live… just a little longer… just long enough to see life outside this cage.*
I owned nothing—no toys, no soft bed. Just an old feather I hid under a rag and batted around in secret. It was my only treasure. When the man came, I couldn’t help it—I pushed the feather toward him.
“Take this too. Please… If you don’t want me, at least let the feather be wanted.”
But he took me. And the feather.
Now I have a name. They call me Feather. I live in a home. Yes, still in a separate room for now—just to be sure I’ll be alright. But this isn’t a cage. It’s warm. There’s food. Toys. Hands that pet 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 savour every moment. Because now, I have a Person. Mine. He chose me—despite everything. So I must be worthy of that choice.
There’s so much I want to say, but words drown in emotion. All I feel is this heartbeat: *alive… alive… alive…*
Please, don’t walk past creatures like me. We aren’t always pretty. Not always strong. But we’re alive. We feel, hope, dream. And if you ever visit a shelter—look for the eyes full of waiting. Not pity—hope. To be needed. To be loved. To matter—to someone.
I’m Feather. I was nobody. Now, I’m someone’s beloved cat. And that—that is an entire universe.
