Virgo’s eyes said it all—tired, confused, and full of sadness. She had once belonged to someone, you could tell by the worn-out collar around her neck and the way she still wagged her tail hesitantly when approached. But now, she wandered the streets alone, her once-glossy coat matted and dirty, searching for something… or someone… who would finally care.
When I first saw Virgo, she was curled up beside a dumpster behind a market, too weak to move much. A few scraps of food lay near her, likely tossed by a kind stranger. As I approached slowly, her ears perked, but she didn’t get up. It was as if she didn’t believe anyone could truly mean her no harm anymore. People had let her down too many times.
After coaxing her with gentle words and food, she allowed me to lift her into my car. She was trembling, not from cold, but from fear and exhaustion. At the vet, we discovered she was underweight, slightly dehydrated, and had old scars—clear signs of neglect or even abuse. It broke my heart.
How could anyone abandon such a gentle soul?
In the days that followed, Virgo slowly began to trust again. She’d flinch at sudden movements but would cautiously follow me from room to room. She seemed to want to love and be loved, but there was a wall built by betrayal. Still, with every meal, soft bed, and quiet moment we shared, I saw glimmers of hope returning to her.
Poor Virgo had been let down by people—used, abandoned, and forgotten. But she never gave up completely. Her spirit, though bruised, wasn’t broken. And now, she has a forever home where she’ll never again have to question whether she matters.
She does. And I’ll spend every day showing her just tha
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