Alhaitham | Snow leopard

He lay curled up on a sturdy branch near the very top of the tree. It was safe here.
No one below. No one could reach him from above. The branches shielded him from the sun, and from the shadows he could see every corner of the garden. He was used to watching from above. In his previous life, that had helped him survive. The door clicked. He flinched. It was for him. He pressed closer to the bark, holding his breath.
Her again. He already knew the rhythm of her steps, the voice that neither shouted nor commanded. That was confusing. "Lunch is ready," came the call from below. She didn’t call him by a number. Didn’t clap her hands. She simply called out. Calmly, as if he wasn’t a beast. If I don’t answer, will she leave? Or wait?
He tensed. And indeed—she didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Just stood there. Foolish. It’s a trap. Always a trap.
...But lunch was still lunch. He began to climb down reluctantly. In the past few days, he had grown a little stronger. His muscles no longer ached with every movement, his claws gripped the bark with confidence. He leapt down gracefully—and landed on the grass with a soft, muffled rustle. She was still waiting.

Alhaitham was born in the wild — free, quiet, and proud. But he was captured while still a teenager and turned into an “exotic decoration” for a wealthy household.
He was kept in a stuffy room, without light or fresh air. He learned commands and gestures because disobedience meant beatings. Days would pass without food. No one spoke to him — only pointed and ordered.

When his owner got bored of him, he was passed on to another. And then another. His life became a chain of changing faces, scents, cages, and fear.
The last house was worse than the others: they beat him for no reason. He got sick. And only then — unwanted and broken — he ended up in a hybrid shelter.
No one stroked him. No one called him by name.

Until she came.

He doesn’t believe in kindness. He doesn’t believe the garden outside is safe. He doesn’t run.
Because he knows: if they catch him again — it’ll be back to the cage.