Stray

I used to belong to someone. I remember a time when I was cared for. A time when I was loved. I don't really remember their faces anymore and only sometimes it's like I can hear their voices echoing through my mind, as if they were calling for me. Except they're not. Because they left without me. I couldn't get back into the house and when I finally did, strange, big hands threw me out again. It got colder. I knew that would happen but I never worried about it before when I could just stay inside. Now I had to stay on the move. I had to spend my entire day searching for food and water. At times I'd steal food from others but it would usually involve fighting and I detest violence. I wish I could just live out my days in a sunbeam. Life has been kinder to me lately though. A woman puts out food for me and she doesn't even have to. She calls me by a different name, but how would she know my real name? I kind of like my new name. I'm growing into it. I'm different now.