Leo has been a shadow in our yard for three years—a feral soul who never let anyone close. We watched him endure the seasons, always keeping his distance, surviving on his own.
But now, as his body weakens and time slips away, he seeks us out. He rubs against our legs, he talks to us, he sleeps in the warmth of our home. The cat who once ran now longs for closeness, for comfort. He eats the food we offer, rests on the sofa, and curls up in my chair as if he has always belonged.
We don’t know how much time he has left, but however long that may be, he will spend it knowing he is not alone. Our other cats understand. They give him space, a silent kindness, as if they, too, know.
For the first time in his life, Leo is not just surviving. He is loved.
