LatinosUSA

At first, it arrived on tiptoe, slipping into our lives before we even noticed.
Then it grew bolder, tearing down every barrier and robbing us of our peace, our health, but above all, the people we loved.

We stopped singing from our balconies, as we had begun to do to feel less alone. Even the belief that we would emerge as better people started to waver.
Our lives were put on hold, dreams and plans set aside, while time kept moving forward. Relentlessly.

Now, as I look in the mirror, I count the new wrinkles. This is what I have gained, in exchange for everything I have lost: people, sleep, smiles, the will to do things.

But thankfully, Byron arrived. That’s what I call him.
A reddish cat, left without an owner, wandering through our neighborhood ever since. I don’t know where he sleeps or who feeds him, because he never asks me for food.

Every day, he comes and sits on the same stone bench, waiting for me to notice him. When I open the door, he meows. It’s an irresistible call.
I approach him, and our ritual begins—a bond built little by little, as his wariness gave way to trust. I sit beside him, and Byron rubs against me, stroking my soul with his purring while I gently run my fingers through his soft, golden fur. I talk to him, and he answers.

An orphaned cat and an orphaned heart, finding a way to carry on. Together.