Orange didn’t know what sunlight was. The world was a tapestry of sounds and scents, a symphony composed of rustling leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and the comforting warmth of cardboard. He was a kitten, born into a world of shadows, his life a silent film without color.
Today was a day like any other, except perhaps for a subtle shift in the air, a whisper of change that Orange couldn’t comprehend. It was his first birthday, a milestone unmarked by celebration or gift. For Orange, birthdays were as abstract as colors.
He lived in a cardboard box, his sanctuary against the indifferent world. He explored his tiny universe with his sensitive whiskers, his meows a lonely echo in the quiet alley. Sometimes, kind souls would leave scraps of food, a lifeline in his precarious existence. But today, the box was empty, a stark reminder of his solitude.
As night descended, enveloping the city in a blanket of darkness, Orange curled into a tight ball, his purr a soft counterpoint to the city’s symphony. He dreamed of warmth, of soft fur to cuddle, of a gentle hand to stroke his head. In his dreams, he was no longer alone, but part of a loving family. When he woke, the world was still dark, but the hope in his heart remained a steady, warm glow.
