Fate doesn’t wait for the workday to end—that hit me hard this morning when I was already on my way out the door. Between the walls of my apartment complex, a heartbreaking, delicate cry drifted through the cool morning air and stopped me in my tracks.
There, where it’s usually just concrete and shadows, I spotted a small blue-gray figure. She looked like a little smoke elf that had somehow gotten lost. No collar, but blessed with a gentleness that left me stunned—if I’d simply held out my hands, she would’ve walked straight into my arms without hesitation.
For a moment, I thought she might be the gray tomcat I’ve seen wandering lonely circles here for the past six months. But she’s different—smaller, younger, almost like his echo. Maybe she’s his kitten, now feeling the same harsh asphalt under her paws. Her coat has that special bluish sheen that doesn’t belong in a place this rough.
Now, stuck at work, I can’t stop thinking about her. The main road right next to our building is like a raging river, and the fear that she could slip into traffic in one careless moment won’t let me breathe. In my mind, I’ve named her Indigo—a name as deep and distinctive as her color.
The moment I head home tonight, the search begins. I’m praying Indigo waited somewhere safe, so this first, fragile meeting won’t turn out to be the last.
