Tell your story #53 - Our favorite cat is Beryozka

Oh, how can I tell you about the Beryozka? Words seem so small when you try to embrace all that tenderness, all that devotion, all that piece of life that she gave to our family.

It was drizzling fine autumn rain that day. The leaves whirled underfoot like slow dancers, laying the city in a dull, gray carpet. I was hurrying home, wrapped in a scarf, when I heard a thin, plaintive meow. At first, I thought I heard it – the wind often plays with sounds in deserted alleys. But the sound came again, and I stopped, looking around.

Huddled in a corner of a shabby house, under a huge maple leaf darkened by moisture, sat a small, trembling lump. It was so tiny that a palm could have completely covered it. Dirty, scared, with huge, tearful eyes. Striped like a young Beryozka, with a gray tinge, as if dusted with the first snow.

The name came naturally Beryozka.

I don't know what made me stop that day. Maybe it's pity. Maybe it's a premonition. But I picked her up, wet and trembling, and hugged her to me. She shuddered even more, then nuzzled my neck and lay still.

They were greeted warily at home. Mom – doubtfully, Dad – with a slight grin. But when they saw those huge, hopeful eyes, they couldn't resist. Beryozka was given an old basket, at the bottom of which I put a soft blanket. She immediately climbed in there and curled up, purring softly.

The first days were difficult. Beryozka ate little, was afraid of every rustle, hid under the sofa. But gradually, with every kind word, with every piece of chicken fillet, with every minute spent on my lap, she began to thaw.

She turned out to be a cat with a temper. She is very independent, but incredibly loyal. She didn't like being squeezed and kissed, but she always came to me when I was sad. She sat down next to me, put her soft paw on my arm and looked into my eyes with her piercing, green gaze. At that moment, it seemed like she understood everything I was feeling.

Beryozka grew, turning from a dirty, frightened kitten into a graceful, beautiful cat. Her stripes have become clearer, her coat is shiny and silky. She loved to walk around the apartment, strutting like a queen, inspecting her possessions. She loved to sit on the windowsill, watching life outside the window. She loved playing with the sunbeams, chasing them around the room.

She had her quirks. For example, she loved sleeping on my pillow, right above my head. And no amount of persuasion helped. She just curled up and purred until I gave up. She also liked to "hunt" my feet as I walked down the hallway. She would hide around the corner and suddenly jump out, grabbing my ankle. At first I was scared, then I got used to it and even started laughing.

The years passed. The Beryozka grew old with us. Her fur turned gray, her movements became slower, and her eyes became wiser. But she remained the same beloved and important part of our family. She knew all our habits, our joys and sorrows. She was our quiet comfort, our silent support.

And then the day came when the Beryozka got sick. The doctors shrugged their shoulders. The disease turned out to be incurable, bringing her unbearable suffering. We fought to the last, but there was no relief.

I remember that day right now. The sun was shining brightly, flooding the room with warm, golden light. Beryozka was lying on my lap, weak and exhausted. I stroked her soft fur, whispered words of love and gratitude to her. She looked at me with her huge, green eyes, and in them I saw not fear, but only fatigue.

We have made the most difficult decision of our lives. Euthanasia.

I held her in my arms when the doctor gave her the injection. She purred softly, then closed her eyes and was silent forever.

The world seemed to collapse. The pain was unbearable. It felt like a huge chunk had been ripped out of our lives.

It's been a few years now. The pain has subsided a little, but the memory of the Beryozka is alive. She lives in photographs, in stories, in fond memories. She lives in every corner of our house, reminding us of herself with her invisible, loving energy.

I often think about what would have happened if I hadn't stopped on that rainy autumn day. If I hadn't heard her plaintive meowing. I guess my life would have been different. Less complete, less warm, less real.

Beryozka taught me a lot. She taught me unconditional love, devotion, and compassion. She taught me to appreciate every moment spent with my loved ones. She taught me that even a small, defenseless creature can change your life forever.

And I know that one day, when my time comes, I will meet her again. And we will be together again, in a world where there is no pain, no suffering, but only love and endless happiness.

After all, the love of animals is not just the love of cats or dogs. It is love for all living things, for everything that breathes, that feels, that suffers. It's love that makes us human. And this love never dies. She stays with us forever. As a memento of my little striped Beryozka.

A story has been written about our beloved kitty beryozka specifically for the contest @ruthjoe
https://steemit.com/ladies-universe/@ruthjoe/contest-tell-your-story-53