Jake's Post

When I was the cat I used to be, I had spirit. I was full of life. I climbed trees with ease, and tore the fields apart – tore them up with instinct galore. I lived with furious grace. I was free.

Of course, that was when I was the cat I used to be.

Now, with my life of comforts and treats, I cry. You might think it is a need for love, or pity, or just a life of some pathetic me. Really, when I am crying, it is for the cat I used to be.

Make no mistake. Lying cold on the side of some forgotten road, I almost died. My sisters took me in. They kept me safe while I lay in the grass, missing my back legs. I was cold. I was helpless. I was angry. I was not me. Remember this. I cry for the cat I used to be.

My sisters are now all gone. One is dead from being saved. The others have gone to a home unknown. I keep on keeping on. I am legless, with my spirit bruised. Yet, I can cope. So please do not blame me when I cry. My cries are not for you. They are not for me. When I cry, it is for the cat I used to be.