The old cat sits solemnly in the corner of his carrier.
He knows what's coming next.
Nine lives of experience means you can't fool his keen and tired eyes.
He buries his face between his paws.
He fell in love again, how stupid, with a human who promised him care.
A human with soft hands, and a softer voice when she told him her heart was true.
He wanted to believe her so badly.
When she forgot to feed him or fill up his water bowl he'd meow for her attention.
He wasn't mad, wasn't needy, just thirsty and tired of the rumbling in his gut
Her response lacked that sentiment of patience.
"Rotten cat, you, I fed you just this morning. Can't you wait a second longer?"
He could, and so he did, and went to bed on an empty and aching stomach.
He forgave her, because he remembered when she said her heart was true.
Days went by, and his ribs began exposing themselves
And so he attempted to meow again, just a reminder, a plea at worst.
She scowled at him while filing his dust-covered bowl.
He purred and rubbed on her legs, overjoyed though his water was unclean.
She bent down to pet him, and said once more, that her heart was true.
And all was forgiven.
Days flew by again, and the cat hadn't even seen his owner in days.
His sick overcame him and shown on the carpet, much to his dismay.
When the human returned that evening, those feeling's dissolved into dread.
She cursed to herself whilst cleaning the floor,
Emanating a harsh and cruel aura of hate.
Still, the cat took his chances to thank her for her efforts and rubbed against her legs.
A sharp kick to the stomach proved his gamble was ultimately lost.
She went to bed angry, without filling his bowls.
The cat could tell by now his time was running out. He panicked, wondering why he wasn't gifted the thumbs to feed himself.
His angry, anxious stomach kept him up all night.
The next morning, through fatigued desperation, he struck her twice with his claws.
His meows never worked, and she took no notice of his shrinking frame.
He did the only thing he knew to do.
And now he's here, in the corner of a carrier.
He's been here before, in past lives, where he bared his teeth, or his claws.
He's been forced into these small, uncomfortable spaces countless times.
He knows how it ends.
What he doesn't know, is what he could have done to make her care, without the violence.
When she took no notice of his passive signs, when she scolded him for using his voice.
What else was there for him to do?
The grate in front of him opens.
He steps out slowly, but willingly. He's too tired to fight anymore.
He lays his head down on the cold metal table and watches the human he loves.
He looks at her with all the love in his broken, hungry heart.
She stares back with zero remorse. With a seething and venomous hatred.
As the needle finds it's home, his only thoughts are
"I hope her next pet loves her well."
