Shortly after 10:00 p.m., I heard a cat crying. It was such a loud, pitiful cry that could be heard all the way up to the 11th floor of our apartment building. "There's a cat in trouble," I said to my son, Dieter, and we rushed downstairs to see if we could help.
We searched all over the gardens; looked under all the cars in the parking lot; and checked all the balconies of the ground floor, but the crying cat was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly I spotted a cat sitting under one of the low growing bushes. "What's the matter kitty?" I asked, approaching slowly. Kitty looked at me, big eyed and ready to make a run for it. "Don't be afraid," I said. "I want to help you."
I was just about to crouch down when kitty shot out like an arrow from a bow down the street. There was no way I could catch up with it.
The next day, when I came home from work, I noticed a cat sitting close to the entrance door of our building. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the same cat as the one I had seen running away yesterday. A black and grey striped Tabby with an unusually round face.
Overnight he had gained in trust as he walked up to me and rubbed his head against my leg. "What's the matter boy?" I asked, assuming that kitty was a male. "Are you lost?" What was I to do? Judging by the cat's size, weight and fur, he was about six months old and well cared for. So what was he doing outside?
My thoughts were in a whirlwind as I tried to figure out the possible scenarios. Had he slipped out of one of the apartments and were his owners worried about him? Did he belong to one of the people who lived in the neighbourhood? Or had someone moved and left him behind? Who would be so cruel?
"Come," I said, as I picked him up. "Let's go find your owners."
With the cat in my arms I knocked on every door on the ground floor of our building, but nobody was missing a cat.
I was getting desperate. What was I going do with this animal? I couldn't very well leave him outside. It was December, it was cold and it was going to get a lot colder in the days to come. Snow was expected. What was to become of this kitty? It was obviously raised indoors and would not survive in the outdoors.
I'll post a notice on the bulletin board that I found a cat,' I decided, and in the meantime he can stay with us.'
By the elevators I met my 25 year old Chinese neighbour Jennifer. My hopes that this was her cat were dashed when she asked me, "New member of the family?" Holding on to kitty I related what had happened while on our elevator trip up.
"Is that the cat from yesterday?" my son asked, as Jennifer and I stepped inside the apartment.
Briefly I gave Dieter a recap of my search and plans for posting a notice. "And if nobody comes forward, maybe we can just keep him," I said. "I don't know mom," my son frowned. "We have five cats already. They might not accept a strange cat."
Yeah, well, we could try.
I put kitty on the floor, and he leisurely walked into Dieter's bedroom and had a look around. He was perfectly at ease, but the same could not be said from my other cats. Husky, Fluffy, Floppy, Charlie ran to my bedroom and dived under the bed. The fifth one, Chanel, sat at the entrance of Dieter's bedroom.
When I heard what sounded like Chinese language, I looked at Jennifer. She looked at me. When the Chinese words' were repeated, I looked at her again.
"Weird, isn't it," she said.
"You mean that wasn't you?" I said.
"Me?" Jennifer laughed. "No, that was your cat"
And then I saw it. What sounded like Chinese language came from Chanel. Her mouth was moving, she had her ears flat to her head and her tail was swishing. This was going to go wrong, I could see it. Any moment now she would attack the newcomer.
"Jennifer, could you look after kitty until his owners are found?" I asked her.
"I'm allergic to cats," she sadly admitted. "But okay, if it's only for a couple of days I can look after him." I gave her some cat food, a bowl for water and a spare litter box and Jennifer went on her way.
Despite my best efforts to find kitty's owners, nobody came forward and neither did anyone want to adopt him. As a last resort I phoned a no-kill animal shelter. A representative agreed to come and pick-up kitty and find a home for him.
Seeing kitty go almost broke my heart. My own sense of guilt in not being able to keep him warred with my anger over his plight. Who had left this animal to fend for himself? How could anybody do such a thing?
But kitty was not quite as helpless as I had assumed. In the corridor of the building, the shelter representative and I met up with George. George, a paraplegic, was just coming home from therapy and knew nothing as yet of the lost kitty.
"Can I see?" he asked, hearing a meow coming from inside the cat carrier. No sooner had the representative opened the carrier or kitty jumped out of it and onto George's lap.
That was 5 years ago. Kitty was welcomed into the Gianopoulos' family, was quickly named Lucky, and to this day is the faithful companion of George and his wife, Georgette. Not only did Lucky change George and Georgette's life, he changed mine in a good way too.
I became more active in the pet community; and although I could not adopt more animals or find homes for all those in need, I could raise awareness for homeless pets. I started regularly donating food and blankets to no-kill shelters and pet foster homes. I started participating in fund raisers, as the no-kill shelters and foster homes needed money to have the pets in their care spayed and neutered.
Helping pets has been a rewarding experience. Lucky was lucky, but countless other cats and dogs desperately need some luck of their own too.