The fence was the only place that didnt drive me away. Sometimes, I almost felt as though I belonged to it…
People passed bysome in a hurry, others slow, but almost none ever stopped. “Ive stopped counting the days. When each one begins and ends the same, numbers lose their meaning. Here, by this rusted fence, morning differs from evening only in how the light falls. The rain and the wind became as familiar as hunger and silence. Yet I never left. This fence is the only place that doesnt turn me away. Sometimes I think Ive grown as attached to it as I once was to a home. But perhaps Im still waiting… for what? I dont know.”
He sat on the narrow strip of earth between the wobbling fence and the pavement. His fur was matted, dull, the mud beneath his paws mixing with rainwater as drops slid slowly from the rusty bars. People walked pastsome hurried, some ambledbut scarcely anyone paused. If they looked at all, it was only for a moment, with tired or indifferent eyes. To them, he was just another stray, left to the streets.
But he remembered another world. A world where mornings began with the smell of fresh bread. A small kitchen where hed weave between legs, trying to reach the table. The warmth of the stove in winter, the laughter of the woman when he tripped over his own feet. The soft hand that would absently stroke his head.
Everything changed slowly at first. Cold glances grew more frequent. Then a bowl left empty too often. Shouts, sharp words, a shove. And one day, he found himself on the wrong side of the doorstep. No goodbye, no explanation. Just the click of the latch, and he was outside.
“I thought it was a mistake. I thought theyd call me back. But the door never opened again.”
Life on the street was a harsh teacher, lessons learned through kicks and scrapes. He learned to dodge sticks, avoid thrown stones, scavenge crumbs outside shops. Sometimes he stole a crust of bread or begged a bone from a rare kind soul. But even then, whenever he met a passerbys gaze, he still hoped: *Maybe theyll be the one to say, “Come on home.”*
That day was cold and damp. Rain had fallen since dawn, the wind tearing leaves from the trees. Curled tight, he felt the chill seep into his bones. Then came footstepsan older woman in a worn coat, moving slowly, as if she wasnt sure where she was going. When she saw him, she stopped.
“Good Lord… little one, whos done this to you?” she murmured.
*You look at me differently. Not like the others who walk past. Your eyes are warm, like hers used to be.*
She knelt beside him but didnt reach out right away. Slowly, she pulled a bit of bread and sausage from her bag. “Here, eat.”
He inched forward cautiously, as if the ground might vanish beneath him. He took the food, chewing each bite slowly, as though afraid it might disappear. She didnt rush him, just sat and watched.
“Come on,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “Its warm inside. No one will hurt you again.”
*Youre calling me… But can I trust it? What if the door closes again tomorrow?*
Still, he followed. The gate creaked as they stepped into a small yard. A peeling fence, an apple tree with bare branches. The house smelled of broth and fresh breada scent so sharp in his memory that he froze on the threshold. The woman spread an old blanket on the floor, set out a bowl of clean water, and ladled warm porridge into another.
“This is your home now,” she said, gently touching his head.
That night, he hardly slept. He lay listeningher footsteps in the house, the faint creak of floorboards, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. More than once, she peeked in, adjusting the blanket, whispering: “Youre home now, understand?”
*Home… How afraid I was Id never hear that word again.*
The days passed differently now. Hed wait by the door for her, bring her the faded old ball. Hed curl beside her as she drank tea, listening to her voice even if he didnt know the words. His fur grew soft again, his eyes clear.
Sometimes, passing that old fence, hed pause. Staring into nothing, as if his old self still sat therewet, hungry, lost. The woman would step close, rest a hand on his neck, and say:
“Come on home.”
*Yes… now I know where it is.*
