Little Royston had no one to hold him. Abandoned too soon, he sat alone under a wooden bench near the shelter yard, his tiny arms trembling and his voice crying out in desperate tantrum. His soft fur was dusty, and his wide eyes searched every direction—for his mother, for warmth, for milk.
He was just a baby. Too young to understand why no one came when he called. His cries were loud and heart-wrenching, shaking his whole little body as he threw himself onto the ground in frustration. His belly rumbled. He was starving, confused, and scared.
Royston didn’t want to play or explore. All he wanted was someone to bring him milk—just one bottle to calm his empty stomach and fill the ache in his heart. He reached out every time footsteps passed, hoping it was his mama. But no one came.
Then, a kind caregiver finally noticed him. They gently approached with a warm bottle of milk. Royston’s eyes lit up through his tears. He leapt up and wrapped his arms around the bottle, sucking hungrily while still crying between gulps. It was as if the milk carried all the comfort he had been missing.
As his belly filled and his sobs quieted, Royston curled up in the arms of the caregiver. He finally closed his eyes—not from sleep, but from relief. Someone saw him. Someone cared.
His tantrum wasn’t just hunger—it was heartbreak. And now, maybe, he’d start to feel safe again.
