Walking home from the bus after work, about a block from my flat I began to hear a cry. Uncertain of what I was hearing at first. As I got closer to home the cries became louder and more desperate and were clearly those of a kitten in distress. Now, I know I am close, but where is it? I follow the sound over to the opposite sidewalk. There is nothing but concrete and all is quiet now. I glance at the planter in front of me but see nothing. Then another cry. It is right below me. I gently move the vegetation out of the way and see a little brown fuzzy thing. Turns out it is a black kitten that is caked with the fine sand that coats everything in Cairo but it is also clear that he has been here for some time because like the cars that are not washed for a couple of days the dust is caked in his fur and his eyes and nose are black with it. I plop him in my plaid designer knock off lunch bag and I’m off to the neighbourhood Vet to have him looked over. On my walk through streets I have never been on and to a Vet I have met I get more than the average amounts of stares due to my bag yowling like a starving kitten. The most entertaining were those who would look around wildly for the kitten that was making the sound as I walked past only to realize a few seconds later or when I motioned toward my bag thus giving away my secret. They always burst out laughing and signaled in one manner or another a “thumbs up”.
Although I had hoped to adopt or foster a cat I really did not want to sign up for a nursing position but settled into it and accepted my responsibility. C’est la vie. My little rescue kitten developed his own personality and even though he never grew bigger than to fit in my hand he could run pretty fast. Mahzooza which means “lucky” in Arabic had a month of comfort and love and then moved on. Was he lucky or not?