(A reminder of) The life I used to live

"Torkitty"

• pink and green
• loves watermelon
• very hyper, easily startled
• funny movement of tail

?
I hold dear the faintly distancing sound of a dinner bell, for all the times when I used to eat. Premium kitty chow, it was. I thought much of it then, but likely not as much as I should have. Looking back, I now realize how much I took that comfort for granted. In the absence of warmth in my heart there is much coldness, and I am confused. I don't quite remember what transpired: it couldn't have just been a bump on my head that led to today, but I find myself lost in the yawning gauntlet of the dimly-lit street at night… coarse cobblestone so unforgiving on my paws.

Of the things I do recall, I do know I was?am loved. That is truth to me. I was fawned over, adored, chased as much as I would chase back — maybe even more. But what has happened to all of that? And why do I find myself so alone now? I had a home, a place to stay, and a warm cot to tuck myself into. Although more frequently, I would be tucked in by the soft hands of —

…What's happened?

Somewhere along the way, things changed. I can sit in the cold, even as the rain comes down (which used to be a creature comfort but no longer), and lick my chops. I can meow, call out for attention, but no one's listening. Even when there are crowds nearby. And that, is usually a cue to get moving, to scamper some more and try to find my food for the day. Before I get kicked to the curb by uncaring passerby. (Those humans.) My tummy rumbles and aches. I try to ration my meals but the brutal cycle can't be tided away; a deep debt, it cuts and I meow out some more.

I sleep in a dumpster. It is smelly and unpleasant enough to ward away other stray cats. So, I sleep here alone (which I prefer, because I'd rather not have that sort of company). I'm pretty sure this is a far cry from where I used to lay my apple-head down and look to the stars. And I wish I could find my way home, but I wouldn't know where to start. So many pathways trailing off into frightening uncertainties, and I know at least if I stay here some more, I'll become more familiar. I guess that makes this my new home.

I know I was not abandoned. I know that much. (I was am loved, how could I be?) The closest thing I can nip out and feel stroking my nerves is that I've always been a wild feline at heart, and even in the most luxurious of surroundings, I'd be tempted to explore and peek around the next corner. Perhaps that's what got me here. But exploring? I'm sick and tired of that now. I don't have any reassurances of being found and carried. I just want to be cradled and connected with and driven back to whence I came, in one of those car-things. I'd feel so much better about the journey if I knew the destination.

How did I get lost? I ask myself that a lot. Sometimes I waddle down to the park, hind legs tired and sort of limping behind me, and go to the park.?It's kind of nice here, but still feel so empty. I have a long stretch in the grass (which I'm not supposed to because of the signs) and sometimes dip myself in the duck ponds to cool myself off. It's very hot. The ducks give me funny stares and some children tend to point or even poke at me. Before, I used to understand this. Before, my coat was sleek and shiny. But no more, it's mottled and graying. Lacks tone, losing color, and it's beginning to feel more like an awkward carapace for a different beast than any fuzzy fur.

Feeling less and less like myself and more like a terrified observer in another body, the days pass without much significance to mark my paws on, yet are such a drag…

I just want to be safe and sound at home again.