The orange cat sat alone in the dark. Her eyes caught the light, wide and wary.
Dust settled on empty shelves. The store had been abandoned, its windows smudged with time. She crouched in a corner, her thin frame tucked against a cracked wall.
Hunger gnawed at her, a quiet ache. Nobody came here anymore. Nobody but me.
I found her by chance, slipping through a gap in the door. Her fur was dull, matted. She didn’t run, just watched.
I poured water into a plastic cup and pushed it through the gap. She crept forward, hesitant, and lapped at it. Each sip was careful, like she was afraid it might vanish.
I had no food that first day. Just a pack of crackers from my bag. I crumbled them and slid them through. She sniffed, then ate.
Her tail flicked once, a small sign of trust. I sat outside, watching her through the glass, feeling the weight of her loneliness.
A Slow Trust
Days passed, and I came back. Before work, after work, always with something. Water in a bag, then sausages. She liked the sausages best.
Her eyes would light up, and she’d eat fast, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe she hadn’t.
She was shy, the store owner said. She’d dart away from strangers, hiding in shadows. But with me, she started to soften. One day, she stretched out her paw, batting at my fingers through the gap.
I laughed, and it felt like a gift. I brought a stick with a feather, and she pounced, her fear melting into play. For a moment, she was just a cat, not a stray.
The store was her sanctuary, the owner told me. People outside weren’t always kind. Someone had tried to take her once, but she’d panicked, too scared to trust.
She came back here, to this empty place, where nobody hurt her. I wondered how long she’d been waiting for someone to stay.
A Small Wound, a Big Step
One evening, I noticed her limp. Her back leg dragged, just slightly. My heart sank. She still ate the chicken breast I brought, but her eyes seemed heavier.
I asked the owner to open the door. She shied away, her trust wavering. I didn’t push her. I couldn’t bear to scare her more.
The next day, I brought a cage. I moved slowly, speaking softly, coaxing her with food. She didn’t come. I left the chicken and went to work, my mind on her leg. After work, I tried again. This time, she was there, waiting.
Her limp was better, but I wasn’t taking chances. My friend helped me set up the cage. We played with her, letting her relax, her guard dropping with each swipe at the feather.
Finally, she stepped inside. I closed the door gently, my hands shaking. She scratched at the cage on the way to the vet, her eyes wide with fear. I whispered to her, promising it would be okay.
The vet was kind, his hands steady. Her leg was fine, just a bruise. He trimmed her nails, gave her medicine, and sent us home. I laid my old jacket in the cage for her to rest on. She curled up, her breathing slow.
A New Home, A New Bond
At my house, she stayed in the cage at first. She wouldn’t come out, not even for food. I left the door open, letting her choose. One day, I came back from work and found her on the floor, sniffing the room.
Her eyes were brighter, her steps surer. I sat on the floor, and she came close, nudging my hand. I scratched her chin, and she purred, a soft rumble that filled the quiet.
I bought her a bowl, real cat food, a toy with a bell. She loved the chicken best, never the eggs. After eating, she’d stare at me, her head tilted, like she was trying to understand me.
I wondered what she saw. A stranger who kept coming back? Or a friend?
She grew rounder, her fur shinier. She’d wait for me by the door after work, her tail high. One day, I bathed her. She squirmed but didn’t fight. Afterward, she looked proud, her orange coat gleaming.
She’d chase the feather stick, leap onto the couch, and sprawl out beside me. Her shyness was fading, replaced by a quiet boldness. She’d nudge my hand, demanding scratches, her purrs louder each day.
The store owner told me someone had hit her once, outside. That’s why she hid. But here, in my small apartment, she wasn’t afraid.
She’d sleep on the windowsill, watching the world, safe. I’d watch her, too, feeling something settle in my chest. A warmth, a weight. Like we’d both been waiting for this.
Twelve days turned into weeks. She knew my footsteps, my voice. She’d greet me with a chirp, circling my legs. I’d sit with her, the TV low, her warmth against my side.
I didn’t need much else. Just her, this small orange cat, who’d chosen me as much as I’d chosen her.
Her leg healed completely. She’d run now, darting across the room, chasing shadows. I’d laugh, and she’d look at me, eyes bright, like she was laughing too. I didn’t know her name. I didn’t need to. She was home.
This story was inspired by a quiet, touching video you can watch here. If it moved you, feel free to support the original creator.