Though I am sure she would rather be with her own, Yuki found comfort in a serene consolation of an unlikely new mother.
Gale (from Nightingale) had her life under the makeshift kitchen counter of a fried chicken stall; the only one open on the path we pass every night as we care for the colonies. It was just a large tent on a grassy field in front of a small army residential. The name of the place is Nightingale.
We go there often, just to have dinner at 2 am the next morning, just to slump down and sigh in relief, to run away from the cats when we need to talk serious business (mostly what we can and should do to extend our finances, or to find new income), or simply just to have a little time to catch a breath.
She was there with several others, but only she stayed long enough, until we finished our things. Other cats just greeted us, marched happily for our fish and cat food pouches, and when they were done, sat solemnly watching us until we smiled, and disappeared into the night.
She would watch us stand up and pay for our food, and then follow us to where we parked, bidding us farewell with a heavy heart, turn her back, and go back to her corner.
One particular day she would follow us meowing with pleads and request, as best as she could in her own language.
I told Sheilla, “I have the impression that she asked us to bring her home”
Sheilla squatted and extended one arm, “You want to go home with us, Mama?” We never saw her with kittens, though, but we somehow knew she had some.
She came to us, reluctantly, carefully for doubt that still lingered in her heart. Whether her choice would bring her fortune, or send her to doom?
Gale was never into the games. She has always been the one who watches everyone over, enjoys the blue sky, the security of a home, where I think she once belonged, and the comfort of a good old days. She was never the adventure kind of girl.
Until Yuki bumped onto her several times in her frantic, fearful dashes. She was just a little girl, alone in the middle of nowhere, cold, hot, hungry, and grieving in pain. All of a sudden she was captured, transported the whole hour among crazy traffic, found herself in the middle of everything with so many strangers, cats or man, and went direct under the scalpel in less than six hours.
It’s too much for her, it will be too much for me even, but I can speak for myself, she couldn’t even begin to put things into meow. Still, if we are to save her life, we better be in a hurry.
Good things happen to those who persevere, they said. I don’t know if they have that in the cat language as well; that night when she needs help the most. Gale jumped on the table, and silently sat beside her.
There is that air of serenity with Gale, the same calming vibe that I feel whenever she sat by our legs in that late dinner stall. The same vibe that gave me the security and firmness; the comfort, the gentleness and soothing touch of a mother.
I couldn’t just let the moment pass with a delighted gape. I had to run to my cellphone and snap the magic; the miracle.
And tell you all how grateful I am that you all make this miracle happen both for Yuki and Gale.
Thank you; and thank you again.
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