Cinn was a creature of habit. Eight years of living with the same family had ingrained a routine into his days. Wake up, eat, play, sleep. It was a simple life, filled with the comforting rhythm of familiarity. Today, however, felt different. A spark of anticipation flickered in his brown eyes. It was his birthday, he was sure of it. A whole eight years of loyalty, companionship, and endless love deserved a celebration, didn’t it?
He waited for the morning greetings, the excited pats, and the inevitable present. But as the morning wore on, a sense of disappointment began to creep in. There were no special treats, no playful tug-of-war, and certainly no mention of a birthday. Cinn tilted his head, confusion etched on his furry face. Had he imagined it?
The day passed in a blur of normality. The family went about their daily routines, oblivious to the growing sadness in Cinn’s heart. He followed them from room to room, his tail drooping with each passing hour. He tried to catch their attention, but their minds seemed occupied with other matters.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the house, Cinn curled up in his favorite spot. The house was filled with the usual sounds of evening – the clinking of dishes, the soft hum of the television. But to Cinn, it was a symphony of silence. He was a loyal companion, a constant presence, yet on this special day, he felt invisible.
