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My natural state of being seems to be sleeping in a box, like an abandoned kitten or something. That seems to be really apt, now that I think about it- I’m happy when I’m asleep, and when I wake up, I just want to be taken out of my box and loved, petted and told that I’m beautiful. So often, though, there’s no one to pick me up out of the box. So I scramble and scratch, trying to reach up the sides of the box, reach out to someone. Someone who might love me and talk to me and tell me about their day, maybe scratch me behind the ears, make me purr. And when I reach out, I usually can get that. I find someone to do all that for me. But when they’re done, they just put me back in the box. And the next time I want to leave the box, I have to do all this scrambling again. They always just put me back in the box, because I’ll be “safe” there. I want to get out of the box. I want to be out of the box, where all the nice people are. And for once, I don’t want to have to scramble to get out and find them- they don’t really come find me. I tip myself out of the box, they pick me up because I’m adorable, and then they put me back in the damn box as if I’m supposed to be in there. I hate the box. I don’t care if that’s where you found me, it’s my prison. But I can’t tell them about how much I hate the box, because all I can do is purr when I’m happy and mew when I’m sad- they don’t understand the pain in my little kitten eyes, they think I’m homesick or something, and so they think I should go back to my home, into my box. I wish one would just take me to their home. But you know something, they’d probably just put me in another kind of box. I don’t think I can ever win. All I can do is scramble outside and enjoy the freedom while it lasts. But I’m getting so tired of reaching out…


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