Once upon a hillside she lives alone, on the porch of a small shop; hoping for crumbs and mercy, of kids or adults buying snacks.
Her days become weeks, and weeks become months, and it all turns out to years.
She had never know that her fur was meant to be white; all she knows is the soot of the cars where she spends her night meant to make her warm, and the mud of the sewer a sprinkle on her syrup.
She has never know life meant to be fair; all she knows is stay away until little drops onto the floor, and when everyone is gone, then it will be her turn, licking the floor, while biting no longer work.
What to do? those crumbs are so tiny; sometimes, even just throat bone of chickens fried too dry.
Once upon that hillside she saw that little cat, just like her, years ago; so she crossed the street, and bring her to her porch, maybe they can share, though not much is there.
She never knows kindness does not pay; or should it? All she knows, patience is not her right, much less understanding, even more so: compassion.
All she knows, she was kicked to move her along her way faster, just so a man can be on his way. A man, certain religion said, is the prince of the world. He owns all women, he owns all the world, he owns all his right.
She never knows a kitten is supposed to run and jump, and fly. All she knows, the kitten cannot walk, just like it’s always been difficult to walk for her. Him with a swollen leg, her with hunger, both with weakness and disease.
All she knows, she was kicked once again to move her along her way, back to where she belongs at the curb of the universe.
All she knows, another motorcycle shielded her from another blow to that crumbling waist, and a pair of hands grabbed her.
She probably never know what she should do. All she knows, she was in another home, kept in a filthy cage.
But then, bathed with warm water, and fragrant shampoo, and wrapped in a thick, fluffy towel.
All she knows, she faced a bunch of delicious food, in a fancy bowl, filled to the brim.
And fresh water like the fountain.
And tiny pats on her back, and soft voices encouraging her to eat.
She had never known so many papers and wrapper; and people screaming “Pus! abscess!” and many tubes, and many tubs, and many bandages.
All she knows, that little kitten she was trying to be friend with lay next to her, clean, soft, with blue shoes on its bad leg.
All she knows, she was placed in a small crate with her baby, and transported hours away.
I hope she knows, maybe once upon a hillside, that she now has a home.
I hope she knows, maybe once upon a hillside, what life should be like: food in a bowl, filled to the brim; fresh water from the mountain spring, warm basket, fluffy towel.
Fur white and fragrant.
No more heat.
Maybe once upon a hillside our mundane love story, will be a fairy tale from the past.
A lesson for the future.