I will never forget the horror of that moment. I was walking down the street when I saw something small lying in the middle of the road. At first, I thought it was just a piece of trash, but as I got closer, my heart sank — it was a tiny stray kitten. Before I could react, a car sped by and grazed it, then another vehicle followed. The kitten let out a weak, broken cry. Blood was trickling from its mouth, and it lay there trembling, helpless, and barely able to lift its head.
I froze in shock. People walked past, cars continued to drive by, and no one stopped. But I couldn’t leave it there. I ran into the street, waving my arms to halt traffic. Some drivers honked impatiently, but I didn’t care. Gently, I scooped up the fragile little body. The kitten was warm, but limp. Blood stained its white fur, and every breath it took was a struggle.
I rushed it to the nearest veterinary clinic, praying it wasn’t too late. The vet took her in immediately, and I waited with my hands shaking. They worked quickly, trying to stop the bleeding and stabilize her. I sat there, silent, heartbroken, and angry — angry that she had been left to suffer, that her life had almost ended before it had even begun.
Miraculously, she survived the night. The vet said she had internal injuries but was fighting hard. I knew then that I couldn’t leave her behind. She didn’t have a name or a home, but now she has both. I named her Hope.
Hope still walks with a limp, but she purrs when I hold her. Every time I look into her eyes, I remember the pain she went through and the strength it took for her to survive. She may have been just a stray to some, but to me, she’s a miracle.
