It was a gloomy, rainy afternoon when I first saw the tiny kitten. I was walking home from the store, umbrella in one hand, groceries in the other, when a faint cry stopped me in my tracks. I looked around, unsure if I’d imagined it. But then I heard it again—soft, desperate meows coming from a nearby bush.
Curious and concerned, I carefully stepped closer. That’s when I saw her: a tiny, drenched kitten, no bigger than the palm of my hand, curled into herself, shaking uncontrollably. Her fur was soaked, and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked up at me, as if begging for help—but too weak to move.
Without a second thought, I dropped to my knees, gently scooping her into my arms. She was freezing cold, and I could feel her little body trembling. I wrapped her in a dry scarf I had in my bag and held her close to my chest, trying to share some of my warmth.
The walk home felt like forever. I kept whispering softly, hoping to comfort her. When we finally arrived, I dried her off with a towel, set up a warm blanket near the heater, and gave her a small bowl of warm milk. She was hesitant at first but slowly began to drink, her tiny tongue lapping eagerly.
That night, I stayed by her side. I named her Rainy.
Over the next few days, Rainy began to recover. Her shivering stopped, and her eyes grew brighter. She started to play a little, even letting out soft purrs when I pet her.
Finding her that day changed something in me. It reminded me that even the smallest, weakest creatures deserve love and a second chance. And Rainy? She found her forever home in my heart.
