The cold air whips through my fur and cuts through my body as I crouch here beneath a pile of discarded trash. I shiver uncontrollably and try to comfort myself with warmer thoughts of better days when I was loved by my human. These thoughts always end in sadness, it seems. I am a feral cat.

I was a kitten when I first saw her staring back at me through the pet shop window. The woman purred and cooed to me through the glass, then finally came inside and asked the man who was working if she could hold me. She gathered me up and cuddled me against her warm flesh and whispered comforting word into my ear.  I was so tiny then that I fit into her cupped hands. She held me for a few more minutes then asked the man, “What is the price for this kitten?” “Nineteen dollars and ninety nine cents.” he answered. She rifled through her purse, gave the man the money and we left together that day.

The first few months with my human were the best in my life. She lavished me with affection and we cuddled together almost every evening. Her weekly shopping trips always resulted in a new toy, a cat bed or something else that I delighted in. I thought life simply was this good for all cats and that mine always would be.

I was six months old when she began to tire of me. I tried my best to engage her in play or amuse her with my antics, but she no longer seemed interested. Our evening cuddle time was replaced with loneliness as she shoed me away each time I approached her. Before long she began to forget to fill my food and water dishes and seemed disgusted with me when I cried for food. My happiness slowly drained away and I began to avoid her.

I was a year old the day that she left me. Men came into our house and took away the bed that we cuddled on. They worked all day until the house was empty. She gathered her keys and me, then stepped outside. She dropped me in the yard, climbed into her car and drove away.

Everything about this outside place was terrifying. I had never been outside before. I panicked, raced toward the door and stood there pleading to be let in again but she didn’t answer. I hid behind the milk box there and waited for three days for her to return but she never did.

The seasons came and went as I wandered, hoping all the while that I would find her. Other cats chased me and tore into my flesh. Humans seemed to hate me and would yell at me or throw things at me when they saw me. I had once been a confident, happy cat but now I had become frightened at the slightest sound or the mere glimpse of humans. My fur which had once been long and beautiful was now filthy and matted against my skin. My stomach ached for food constantly and I was becoming thinner with each passing day.

The cold wind and blowing snow roused me from thoughts of the past. I will die here – alone. My only wish is that somehow a kind and caring human will find me and show me affection again. I want to live and know what happiness is again. I want to know what it’s like to be certain that I will never be hungry or cold again. I want to fall asleep in the arms of a human and bask in the sunlight as it filters in through the window.

Please help me. I want to go home.