savingtheworld539.weebly.com

i totally agree!!!

Okay, I know this is kind of long, but I sort of got carried away. Here is my story, from the point of view of an abused cat:

I stare at my horrible, ugly cage I’ve been forced to live in for the past two months. My fur is ratty, ugly, and smelly, so different from the pretty, soft, orange, brown, and white it was. My whiskers droop down. I let out a pitiful meow. I scoot around on the bare, cold floor of the cage. It’s in this rather dark room in my awful owner’s house. I used to just be at a pet shop, but then this guy bought me for a pet. Pet? Ha! More like a toy that he might or might not choose to feed. My water dish has got mold in it, there’s a few crumbs of food left from 4 days ago (when I last got food), there is hair all over the cage, and there are mosquitoes buzzing around the room. I barely have the energy to attack them anymore. Can you believe I don’t even have a litter box? It’s absolutely awful! I meow again. My bones are so sore. I can’t remember the last time I purred. Anywhere at all would be better than this, even a place with lots of dogs. I roll over and attempt to sleep.
Suddenly, I’m awakened by the sound of a door creaking open. What do you know, my owner actually came in here. He’s a very ugly man, with extremely bad breath, missing teeth, and awful body odor. I hiss lowly, but then I see he has a teeny bit of food in his hands. I meow at him.
“Be quiet, ya stupid cat!” He yells at me, and I cower in my cage. He reaches his hand into my cage and grabs me.
“Get out of there, ya lazy cat!” He yells again.
I see my chance! As he reaches in, I muster up my energy and pounce on his hands, sinking my claws into them.
“OW!” he yells, letting go of me. I jump off the shelf my cage is on and race for the door of the room. It’s open! I dash out and run to the kitchen, where there is always an open window. I leap out of it, and start to run down the street, away from this miserable old place. I run and run, but now I’m out of energy. Great. What can I do now? I look around, sniffing for some sign of food, listening for the sound of water.
I can’t hear any water, but I hear something else: thunder. I’m saved! That means a storm is coming, which means two things. There will be plenty of water, and my ex-owner won’t bother to come looking for me. I walk over to a nearby tree, and recline under it. Soon, the rain is falling. Some of the water has gathered in a puddle on one of the tree’s roots, so I gratefully lap it up. I know most cats don’t like rain, but I am so, so happy it’s raining now. I lean back and relax. Suddenly, I see a movement in the bushes. I stand up, ready to pounce on it. However, out comes another cat. This one is all grey.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Well, you’re in my territory, so I think I should ask you that same question first,”
“My name is Caramel. I just escaped from this awful man who claimed to take care of me. What should I do??”
“Oh, good job. Well then…” he said, lying down on the ground, “My name is Nimbus. My owner is a meteorologist, so he named me after grey clouds. Silly, huh?”
“Oh, uh, I come from a pet shop. They just named me Caramel. I don’t know why. And that awful old guy just kept the name I suppose. But what should I do now??”
“Relax. First, you can come with me to my house. My owners are nice people, so they’ll probably take care of you a few days, and then send you to a shelter.”
“A shelter?”
“It’s a place, kind of like a pet shop, where people take care of homeless animals. Other people can go there to get animals for pets,”
“I see. All right then,”
So Nimbus and I set off for his house. We get there, and his owners do just what he thought. Soon, I’m at this new place… an animal shelter. I step into the room where I’m supposed to stay. There are lots of other cats too. It’s a very nice place, with plenty of food and water. I make friends with all the cats there. I’m actually happy.



4 Months Later

I look up to see a family come into the shelter. They start to look at all the cats, petting them and playing with them. They come over to me. I can tell from their faces that they are nice, good people. I purr for the first time in months. I can’t resist it, especially when people scratch me under my chin. One of them goes to talk to the shelter owner, and then they leave.
The next day, one of the shelter assistants picks me up and puts me in a cat-carrier. I’m confused. Where are they taking me? I get loaded into a van, and the assistant drives off. After twenty minutes or so, they stop at