I remeber those cold bitter nights in the dead of winter, when my father died. I sauntered down those creepy, shadowy drains alone, in search of food. Those drains I still saunter down that smell like eggshells and have large quantaties of slime oozing out through the cracks and onto my head.

I spend whole nights on my feet, with a growling stomach. Despite my thick coat of matted fur, I can count my I reach the end of a drain, those wretched humans would toss wine bottles, that usually shatter and other harmful objects and scream, "Rat!"

I cannot believe how foolish they are! Here I am, about thirty times smaller in size, yet they are afraid of me despite the fact that I am not afraid of them. Why should I? I have been alone since my father was sprayed to death by a large, muscular man.

I barely eat, since that day. It's not just because I can't find food. When I do find food, (I'm not talking rich fare here, I'm talking a rotting carrot peel or a mouldy bread crust), I nibble on it unable to eat properly out of grief.

I am tired and fed up of humans disrespecting me. I have a long, strawberry scar across my eye. I remember when someone hurled a knife at me. Fortunately, the knife missed my aching heart, and sliced across my eye. Repetitively, I wish that that knife could have done the favour of getting me out of this dreadful life.

I really don't know how I am to carry on with life every day. The mesmerising jolts of pain that stab at me all the time. The ongoing hunger. The upsetting memories of my caring, selfless father, who got in the way when a man aimed a tin of spray at my muzzle, that take over my mind. It's hard to block out the memories because I'm always alone. There's nothing to do, no one to know that will help me bury my grief. The memories are too vivid and too real to forget.

I might feel a little better if those humans actually had feeling except pure fear and hatred. So I can have one less situation in my life. One thing's for sure, it won't comfort me because comfort is a sensation I haven't had for years and may never again. The stench of the drains used to make my head spin, but after a series of heart-hardening events, the stench is the least of my worries.

I'll spend the rest of my life searching for at the end of this pitch-black tunnel of dread.