They chose me… Me! A cripple, a failure… And yet they still picked me!
Every time people came, I held my breath. I tried to look presentable—licking my fur clean, washing my face carefully, tucking my paws neatly. All for nothing. They always picked the others—the lively ones, the playful ones, the agile ones. And there I stayed, in my tiny cage, curled up in pain and shame, too afraid to even meow. My hind legs were weak; I couldn’t run well, and so—I was invisible. A misfit. Unwanted. A lost cause.
But today… today, a miracle happened. The cage opened—not for an injection, not for a checkup. Someone lifted me into their arms. I heard the woman whisper:
*”Light as a feather. What’s his name?”*
*”He doesn’t have one. If you like, give him one. But you’d be better off picking a healthier one. This one… well, why would you want him?”*
*”This one is special. Will he love me?”*
Love? Me? Are you serious? You want *me* to love you? *Me?* A runt, a nobody? If you take me, I promise—I’ll be the best! I’ll purr every morning, I’ll play, I’ll try. I’ll learn, I’ll practice—I’ll grow strong, grow handsome. I’ll earn your love. Please… take me…
I remember once, one of the shelter workers said, right in front of me:
*”Just put him down. Why keep this pathetic thing caged up? No use, no hope.”*
That was the first time I truly felt fear. I tucked myself into the corner, frozen, not breathing. The footsteps faded, and all I could think was: *Not yet. I don’t want to die. Let me live… just a little longer… just long enough to see the world outside this cage…*
I had nothing—no toys, no soft bed. Just an old feather I’d hidden under a scrap of cloth, batting it around in secret. It was my only treasure. When the woman came, I couldn’t help it—I pushed the feather toward her.
*”Take this too. Please… If you don’t want me, at least let the feather go to someone who needs it.”*
But she took me. And the feather.
Now, I have a name. She calls me Feather. I live in a home. Yes, still in a separate room for now, just to be sure I’m alright. But this isn’t a cage. It’s warm here. There’s food. Toys. People who stroke my fur. 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 mewl. I just live. And I’m grateful for every moment. Because now, I have *Her*. Mine. She chose me—despite everything. And that means 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 heartbeat: *I’m alive… I’m alive… I’m alive…*
Please, don’t walk past ones like me. We’re not always pretty. Not always strong. But we’re alive. We feel, we hope, we dream. And if you ever step into a shelter—look for the eyes full of waiting. Not pity—hope. To be wanted. To be loved. To matter… to someone.
I am Feather. I was no one. Now, I’m somebody’s beloved cat. And that—that is an entire universe.
Sometimes, the ones who need love the most have the most to give.
