In an old alley where broken bricks lined the street and raindrops often whispered sad songs on the roof tiles, a small cat named Milo sat curled up on a piece of cardboard. Around its neck was a red collar—now faded, with only a rusted bell hanging loosely.

Milo used to have an owner. Once, it had a home, a bed by the window, and warm hands that fed it every morning. But one day, the family moved away. They said it was just for a while, they said they would come back. Milo waited.

Seasons passed. The red collar became dusty, and the bell no longer rang like it used to. Every time someone passed by, Milo would look up, eyes hopeful, ears perked. But no one ever called its name.

One stormy afternoon, a woman with gray hair and a worn umbrella walked by. She saw the small cat trembling in the rain, its eyes still holding a flicker of hope. She knelt down, wrapped Milo in her shawl, and whispered, “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

That day, Milo didn’t get its old home back. But it got a new one. A quiet kitchen, a soft blanket, and hands that never let go.