-Abandoned at 17 - new beginning for an elderly cat

Cinnamon came to us in June 2016. In her mind, I know that it was more of an abduction than a rescue. She was 17 and had spent all her life at home. That June, she lost everything. Her owners were an elderly couple who died only a few months apart. She was left under the care of relatives who would chase her around with sticks, abuse and mistreat her. At 17, she was no longer welcomed in her own home, and she had nowhere else to go but foster care. So we took her in. I've never seen an angrier cat in my life. She was furious, confused and so lonely. Months kept going by and all we could do was enter her room, ignore her as much as possible, clean up, change the water, put the food on her plate and leave. She would just sit there, in a corner as far from us as possible, and look at us with hatred and mistrust. Every time she saw the broom, she would go furious, so we would try to clean up around her without getting closer than a meter or so. Sometimes I tried sitting on the chair next to her, but after a couple of seconds, she would leave and go as far from me as possible. As if all that had happened to her was not enough, we found out that she also suffered from pancreatic cancer. Her days were counted, and she would die alone, sad and angry, surrounded by strangers she hated. But more months went by, and she was still with us. She started allowing you to sit next to her sometimes. She started eating in front of us and moving around in the room, as if we didn't pose that much of a threat. Sometimes she would meow to me at the door, but once I entered, she would just avoid me again. She would spend hours sitting in front of the window, letting the warm sun soothe her hairless, suffering body. She would close her eyes and enjoy it so much, as if the warmth of the sun was a gentle, kind hand, petting her sadness away. We started noticing that she was probably playing when she was alone. We would always pile up her toys next to her bed, only to find them the next morning scattered around the room. The only person she would accept was our oldest volunteer, Katie, who fostered her. Every morning Katie would bring her the canned food she loved, and while preparing it, Cinnamon would wrap herself around Katie's feet and meow impatiently. Katie would spend hours with her, trying to get her to trust. But when being face to face with anyone, Cinnamon would remember how much people had betrayed her. As the months went by, the need to touch her became more and more intense. I just needed to know how her fur would feel against my skin. One day, in December 28, I sat next to her like I always did. I used my sleeve as a shield and approached her neck. She didn't move. In fact, I think I even heard her purr. I will never forget the moment I took my hand out and touched her for the first time. No fur had ever felt sweeter and softer. The more I petted, the more she purred, and the more she purred, the more I felt like crying with joy. I was in awe, and so was she, I think. I spent about an hour that day with her. You know this feeling when you have been too hungry for hours and finally you get to enjoy your favorite meal. My soul was hungry for Cinnamon's love, so hungry that I could not stop. My feet went numb from sitting there. I wanted to shout out and scream and laugh and cry. I started panicking after a while. I kept thinking that the only reason she had gone so soft was that she was about to die. But I was wrong. It's been about a month now that Cinnamon finally has a life. That morning, the wall she had built between her and us came down, and there was no turning back. Cats do that. I didn't know. Now everyone pets her. She expects us every morning meowing at the door, then goes to her favorite place and waits for us to keep her company. She even plays. She plays with us. She must have missed all that love and affection so much. For months I believed that she was always a grumpy, lonely cat, even as a pet, but she wasn't. She had her whole life turned around at an age where all she needed was stability, and the only way she knew how to face all that was by closing into herself. Cinnamon survived so far against all odds, and that makes her a great fighter. I don't know how much time she has left. She will turn 18 in a few months, and her health is not good. But that constant agony of losing her is gone. She might die soon. She might live longer than anyone expected. But no matter what, she will die at home, among all of us. We love her, and she loves us back. And that love will be the last thing she remembers from that weird and difficult journey that was her life.