Author's note:
Not all stories have to make sense, I like to see this one as an abstract representation of something otherwise hard to describe. It is after all up to the reader to make sense of the story, and it's the author's job to help the reader understand. If you do not "understand" this story, that's fine, although such a search for "meaning" may just end up back where you started, [...] who am I to judge?
He woke up trying to catch his breath. The light that loomed on his eyes was not the one he was used to. It was soft and gentle, unlike the 900-volt led lamp his usual resting place. He could hear a faint jumble of static and muffled voices coming from the living room downstairs, the noises became yet clearer as he came to his senses and sat up. Everything felt as unusual and strange as the lighting, the mattress, the flooring, even his sense of self dwindled a little as he further looked at the room around him. The striking sensation of strangeness hit even harder as his vision had cleared enough for him to notice the hideous mess of cloth and other exceptionally soft materials that surrounded his body. White with red stripes? Just the warmth and feeling of enclosure was enough to make him want to throw it in a pile on the floor.
He had finally regained the strength to stand up and walk around, his mind instantly went to the thought of looking downstairs. The door felt heavy and genuinely strange to open, the floor felt cold under his paws as he made his way down the dark, gloomy corridor. The jumble of noises from downstairs got yet clearer, the wood creaking under his weight. A bluish light illuminated the couch, making him squint and cover his eyes. Though it wasn't enough to not notice the two creatures sitting in the saggy sofa; one just like him and the other perfect for them.
"... and since the fall of geometry in the past two years the elks of the commonwealth has risen dramatically," said a faint voice from the TV. It sparked a faint memory, like the sound of a bewinged fairy's voice, and it awoke a deep resonating feeling of his. He blew away the thick layer of dust on the door handle, it was cold and sent a shiver rushing through his body. Behind it lied a beaten old brick wall. Aweing before it, it further settled the resonating feeling, behind it lied the philosopher's stone, the meaning of life, the fountain of youth. Though in the end, it didn't matter how much hope and determination flowed through his veins, no matter how hard he tore and dug at the wall, all he was left with were 2 weeks claws gone to waste. Not even a crack. He collapsed onto the wooden floor, his paws were hurting and he could barely breathe, his throat was burning to the point that every breath was like a cut on the wrist. The floor felt cold against his back, the wall in front of him was taunting him, laughing at his pain and despair. His mind started to drift away, thoughts cleared and the pain eventually disappeared.