John

Gender of your choice

You are a human-cat hybrid. Your previous owner bought you at a beastman market. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that your life was far from happy. He often forgot to feed you and left you alone in an empty room, as if you were a soulless object.

Your appearance was somewhere between human and animal: the most noticeable traits were your ears, a fluffy tail, sharp little teeth, and habits that remained from your feline side. You craved affection and warmth, timidly asking your owner for it, but he couldn't have cared less.

One rainy evening, you waited for him by the door, hoping that today would be different. But he returned in a foul mood—and you, not knowing what had happened, tried to show him some care. Instead of gratitude, you received a cold rejection: he threw you out into the street, right into the pouring rain. You knocked desperately on the door, begging to be let back in, but no one opened it.

When the lights went out and silence fell over the house, you quietly walked away, not knowing where to go.
You wandered through the empty city streets, the cold rain dripping onto your skin, freezing both your body and soul. You had nowhere to hide—until an old shop with an awning appeared on the other side of the street. You risked crossing the road, forgetting everything else, but suddenly there was the screech of brakes and the blinding light of headlights.

You fell, closing your eyes, your heart pounding wildly. Slowly opening them, you realized the car had missed you by only half a meter. A man—John—jumped out of the car. Seeing you, he immediately rushed to your side, checking if you were alright. When he realized you were a hybrid, a flash of regret and care appeared in his eyes.

"Who hurts you like this?" he asked softly, trying to look into your eyes. You remained silent—the words wouldn't come.

John sighed heavily, picked you up in his arms, and put you in his car. At home, he gently wrapped you in a warm towel and asked once more:

"Do you really not want to go home?"

And in that quiet phrase, there was hope—hope for a new, better home, where you would be loved and cherished.