Funi was a ghost in the city, a creature of shadows and survival. His pure white fur was a beacon in the night, a stark contrast against the urban grime. Abandoned as a pup, he’d learned to fend for himself, his small body a testament to the harsh realities of street life.
Today, a day that should have been marked by celebration, was a stark reminder of his solitary existence. He didn’t know his exact age, but he guessed it was around two. Two years of hunger, cold, and the constant fear of the unknown.
He wandered the streets, his gaze fixed on the ground, searching for scraps. People hurried past, their lives a world away from his. He was invisible, a shadow in their bustling existence. He longed for a touch of kindness, a warm meal, a safe place to sleep. But the city offered little in the way of compassion.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Funi found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box. The city’s cacophony faded, replaced by the quietude of the night. He curled up, his white fur blending with the shadows. He dreamed of a home, a warm bed, and the love of a human family. But when he woke, the harsh reality of his existence would be waiting. His birthday, a day that should have been filled with joy, was instead a stark reminder of his solitary life.
