Lookism: What Am I Even Doing?

Holiday Special

(Destroyer of Worlds POV)

Two weeks after I was born, my mother left me in a cardboard box on the side of the street. She looked down at us with a crooked smile and tears in her eyes. Her words gave us comfort that she'd return with food. My mother never came back with food, she never came back at all.

As a young street cat there are two places you can end up. One of them, like many of my brothers and sisters, is getting picked up by the scruff of our necks by oncoming traffic. Each of those big eyed humans would look at us with such pity. Then they'd take the prettiest ones to take home.

I remember my mother having pearly white skin and bright blue eyes. Whatever alley cat my father was he was pure black with yellow eyes. The only good features I inherited from my mother were a single white paw and my bright blue eyes. But to some people who believe in superstition, that wasn't enough to give me sanctuary.

The second option?

Die.

Die in that cardboard box.

Die from hunger.

Die by getting run over.

Die by this or that.

Just die.

It's a cruel way to live. To have to leave it up to luck and goodwill of others to survive. Though, I was always a hard headed thing ever since I was young. So when four of us were left in that box I promised all of them that we weren't going to end up like those kittens stuffed into trash bags. We would make it. I would make sure of it.

The first sibling died in that cardboard box waiting. The remaining three of us left in search of food but that one remained hopeful that someone could come along to pick him. To give him sanctuary. On a cold winter's night, I came back with a piece of food scraps in my teeth to give him. I found him curled up underneath an old newspaper.

Unmoving.

Forever waiting.

The second was lured away by the false hopes of appeasing their hunger. A group of young kids whisked my sibling away while I went out with my sister to find us a new place to sleep. Our last shelter had been thrown away by the garbage man and he shooed us away. While running away, our brother hurt his leg and couldn't join us to look for a new home so we left him alone.

Unmoving.

Bleeding.

Forever waiting.

For a while it was only me and my sister. With only each other to protect ourselves, we never left each other's side. Even when she got sick I never left her side to find us something to eat. We hid together inside an old shack of some ladies house. I gave her my rations, gave her my warmth.

But just like the rest of them, she left me.

Rat poisoning doesn't just kill rats. It was one of those harder weeks when we haven't eaten in days. We were chasing a small mouse and came upon a small dish outside a coffee shop. It was filled with food of all sorts. Cat food. Dog food. Small bits of pastries and bread. We thought it was a blessing.

After everything I've been through, I decided not to trust in blessings anymore. So I didn't eat. I told her not to eat either. Hunger is one of the best negotiators. I never stood a chance. I almost fell for the same temptations too if the same mouse we were chasing hadn't stopped me.

It was too late for my sister.

I stayed with her as she suffered for ten days.

Unmoving.