Kato didn’t know his age, let alone his birthday. Time was a blur of hunger, cold, and the endless search for survival. He was a street dog, a creature of instinct and resilience. Today was no different from any other. The sun was a harsh, indifferent eye in the sky, casting long, unforgiving shadows.
His stomach growled a mournful symphony, a constant reminder of his empty belly. He wandered the streets, his gaze fixed on the ground, searching for discarded scraps. People hurried past, their lives a world away from his. He was invisible, a shadow in their bustling existence.
He remembered a time when there was warmth, when food was plentiful. But those memories were fading, replaced by the harsh realities of street life. Now, he was a scavenger, his dignity sacrificed for survival.
As the day wore on, his hope dwindled. The city was a concrete jungle, offering little in the way of compassion. He found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box, a meager refuge from the elements. The night was a cold, unforgiving mistress. As he curled up, his body trembling, he thought of food, of warmth, of a place to call home. But these were mere fantasies, illusions to escape the harsh reality of his existence.
Tomorrow would be another day, another chance to find sustenance. But for now, as sleep claimed him, he was alone, cold, and hungry. His birthday, if it was indeed a birthday, was marked by nothing but the emptiness of his belly and the loneliness of his existence.
