The living room was anything but peaceful. CiCi and her best friend were in the middle of another one of their wild “play sessions,” which, to the untrained eye, looked a lot like a full-blown wrestling match. The sound of paws skittering against the hardwood floor, playful growls, and exaggerated yawns filled the space. Every now and then, one of them would dramatically flop over, only to spring back up a second later to resume their chaos.
I sat on the couch, remote in hand, trying to focus on my show. But it was hard to hear anything over the commotion in front of me. “You two need to get a room already,” I joked, watching CiCi leap and dodge with impressive agility. She looked so vibrant, so full of life — it was hard to imagine she had ever been anything but this happy.
But I knew the truth. Not too long ago, CiCi had been wandering the streets, homeless and alone. Her fur had been dull, her ribs faintly visible under her skin. She had no one to play with, no one to keep her warm at night, and no one to call her own. Thinking about those days made my chest tighten.
Now, she had a home, friends, toys scattered across the floor, and a belly that was never empty. She had learned what it meant to be loved, and she gave it back tenfold. Every wag of her tail, every goofy grin, every playful nip was her way of showing it.
Eventually, CiCi and her friend collapsed in a panting heap, tongues lolling as they caught their breath. The house finally fell quiet again, except for the sound of my TV in the background. I smiled to myself, thinking how lucky we both were — me, for finding her, and her, for finding a place where peace, love, and security would always be hers.
Looking at her now, sprawled out and happy, I couldn’t picture CiCi being homeless ever again. And I was determined she never would be.
