My name is Limu. It means seaweed in Hawaiian. I was wandering free in Washington, DC, until I accidentally entered a trap and was placed into a frightening jail filled with other cats. Freedom has eluded me ever since. After 20 days and a surgery, they arrived—my long-term captors. At first, they took me to live in their condominium prison in Silver Spring. My one happiness was the day my captors returned with a cat tree for me. It was used and smelled like other cats, but I loved it anyway. I adjusted to my situation and found joy in sitting on the highest perch of my tree while looking down upon my captors. After adjusting to life there for 217 days, I was unceremoniously forced into a car for a long journey until I arrived at a distant land by the sea with a strange name—Redondo Beach. Upon my arrival, I had to adjust to the walls of my new prison. Fortunately, I had my cat tree, so I could continue to look down on upon my captors. Life went on, and I eventually came to terms with my captivity in this faraway land. My captors force me to use the toilet instead of a litter box and they constantly torment me with dangling objects. I watch them eat lavish meals while they force me to subsist mainly on dry kibbles. But I am a survivor. This is my story.