A black cat appeared in my backyard, thin, scared, and recently a mother. I watched her, curled up with her kittens, and saw myself in her—vulnerable yet strong, carrying the weight of responsibilities I didn’t ask for. Like the nameless cat in I Am a Cat, I often feel like an outsider, observing the world with cautious eyes. She, too, is hungry—not just for food, but for safety, peace, and connection. We share a silent understanding—two souls, both protective of what we love, despite the world’s indifference. I didn’t choose her, and she didn’t choose me, but somehow we found each other. And for now, that feels like enough.