Betso88 PH
The first time Mara saw the cat, it was a flash of grey that streaked past her, dashing between the trash cans in the alleyway behind her apartment.
Mara was a dog person. She’d never met a feline that she liked – not really. But something about that stray reached into her and tugged. Maybe it was the way it looked at her, like it wanted to be saved but was too dignified to come up and ask, or the loneliness in its eyes, a matching pathology to her own now that she’d moved to the city.
She began setting out food – a bowl of kibble she bought at the local corner store – and, at first, the cat furtively waited until she was back inside, but gradually he let her sit a little closer, and finally he would slowly begin eating as she sat beside him.
She didn’t know why she should go out of her way for this feral animal, why she’d been spending her evenings bent over in the alley, just making some semblance of connection with an animal that barely seemed to notice she was there. But the ritual had become a comfort. It was a way to feel part of something a little smaller than her in an existence that was so overwhelmingly large.
One night, when the cat was licking at its food, Mara saw something she hadn’t noticed before. The cat’s side was dappled with a scar, a thin, easily missed gash, covered in fur. Older, healed over, but unmistakable.
Mara cocked her head curiously, then leaned in to get a better look. The cat pulled back, but didn’t flee. The pupils dilated to slits.
‘What happened to you?’ Mara whispered. She couldn’t bear to think about the life he must have had.
In response — or perhaps she imagined it — the cat stood back on its haunches and licked its paw. Then it looked at her. This was the first time it had looked at her, and Mara was so surprised by that expression, by the recognition she thought she saw in the animal’s eyes, that she forgot to breathe.
This was a street cat, yes, but not a feral one. This cat belonged somewhere, to someone, it had once had a home and an owner, and that scarred paw was evidence of a loving life that had been brutalised in some way, and a past Mara would never know.
And yet the question did not leave her: where had the cat come from, what had happened to it, and why was it trusting her, of all humans, enough to just sit there…?
The answers never arrived, but over time Mara and the cat became friends. Cat came to live with her, a spark of life, silent, a fellow fighter who understood without explaining, a companion and a source of comfort.
And with the months, she changes, too, no longer heavy with loneliness but with purpose and community, the type of companionship that she hadn’t tasted for a long time now. She is less alone, less exposed in the city, more needed. To give was to take care of Mara herself, and so, gradually, she did.
The cat had never spoken, had never revealed the secrets of his past, but by the end it didn’t really matter. The fact that they had shared something meant enough, an example of how the most damaged had a chance to heal.