Shelter

It was a Monday — at least, that’s what it said on the dry erase board. The humans called the large, white, plastic thing at the front of the room by that name. They tacked things all over it, drew kitties and puppies on it — anything to make this place look more cheerful. Yes, for the most part, animals can read. The clock said 7:30. Whether it was morning or night, we didn’t know. There were only fake windows in here. The humans called them ‘window TVs’ because it showed whatever they wanted it to, whenever they wanted it to. It could rain in those windows, but be completely sunny and dry outside. They were in control of this world, and would often change our scenery to keep themselves entertained. 

There were no windows to see whether the god they based their days around was awake or not. We called it ‘their god’ because it was what they based their days around — not the thing in the bible they preached to each other everyday. We were an organization based around the real god… the one that we, the kittens, the puppies, and the birds did not believe existed. Therefore, because the sun is the most important part of life, we call it ‘their god’. The god shined his bright rays when he was awake; we all knew that. They based their days and nights around the sun and moon. That’s God. When your entire day, all of your days, surround a giant burning ball of fire in the sky, then that’s God. People pray, yes… but without the sun or moon, there would be no life.

7:30, whether morning or night, was a time when the shelter was empty. They’d leave us at 5:00 every evening after giving us our nightly meal. They’d come in every morning to clean our cages of poop and pee, freshen our water, and fill our food bowls. We got fed twice a day, no more, and no less. Okay, sometimes they’d forget to feed us, but that’s neither here nor there. They loved us. We knew they did, even when they tied us to the front of our cages so we couldn’t move, even when they shoved our faces into our feces because we pooped our cage, even when they smacked us for making too much noise… we knew they loved us. They were all we had. 

Each animal was locked away in their respective cage, a bowl of dry food in the corner. The water was bad, a type of poison; we would have to wait until the next day, or later that day, to quench our thirst. The water became bad because it would sit, for days, with our saliva in clumps in the bowl. Floating bacteria. We all became sick from drinking our own bacteria. It grew there. It grew until the bowls were cloudy, though they never cleaned out our bowls. They dumped out the water, then refilled each bowl at the sink… tepid water… tepid, never cold… sometimes, sometimes it was lukewarm. 

Sometimes, sometimes they’d forget to feed us, give us water.

It’s why we’d make noise.

We weren’t allowed to leave our cages, but we still knew they loved us. They had to love us. If they didn’t love us, then who would?

We know not to eat dinner, no matter how hungry, until we have water to wash it down with. The food was dry, hard, and crunchy. Every one of us got the same kind of food, and the same amount, no matter whether we were big animals, small animals, cats, dogs, or birds. This food gave our mouths a weird, metallic taste, and an odd, cotton feeling. We knew what metal tasted like because of the bars to our cages, but we did not know what cotton felt like. Food had a tendency to give us fuzzy mouths… like cotton, which apparently a lot of human clothing was made out of.

My paws had patchy fur all over them from how much I’d gnaw and lick my skin. Patches of my body were itchy; this was getting worse as days progressed. There were no doctors, doctor visits, medication or any of that. 

We were left to sit in our cages, waiting day after day, hoping for someone to come adopt us. We were starving, thirsty, itchy, dirty, needing to pee, needing to poop… and yet, I knew they loved us. Freedom was something I was too old to remember. Each day that passed blended into one, and I prayed that one day, I would be adopted by a human.

I promised myself that I would always do as my master said, if I had a master, knowing the consequences if I didn’t. I would be put down, dead, dying, just like all the other dogs who didn’t follow their master’s rules, or who attacked other dogs, attacked other people, or who were not well-behaved. I needed out. I craved to have a human, but right now, I’m making the best of what I can. I’m not eating, nor am I sleeping. I’m sitting here, watching the door, waiting for them to come back.

I am thirsty, though… and tired.

I am thirsty and tired and would never have any of the qualities a human would want. I’m sick. My ribs poke through my fur, and my fur has fallen off in patches. No one does a thing. They laugh, saying I’m hanging on as long as I can… praying to get a human, get a master, a family. 

Maybe, a human would find me and want to save me, but that would never happen. Humans would never adopt something that needed ‘work’, that they needed to spend money on at the vet, a dog that might die before its time, a dog that needed saving in order to live, sleep at the bottom of their bed, be fed treats, go walking, take rides in the car with the windows open.

But still, I pray to their god, the sun, and their goddess, the moon.