First Encounter with a Stray Cat

It was mid—June, the kind of heat that makes the pavement shimmer. On my way to a friend’s place, I spotted her—a stray orange cat curled under a parked car.

She couldn’t have been more than a year old, yet her body told a harder story: swollen teats, ribs faintly visible. She’d clearly had kittens recently, though none were around. My heart sank. How could something so young be struggling just to survive?

I crouched down, whispering softly, but she tensed, watching me with wary eyes. I checked my pockets—keys, phone—nothing she could eat. With a sigh, I stood up. I had somewhere to be, and she wasn’t ready to trust me yet.

Second Meeting

A few days later, I took the same route, hoping to find the stray orange cat again—this time, with a bag of cat food. And there she was again, still under a car, still alone.

I sat on the sidewalk, shaking the food gently. She stayed hidden at first, eyes locked on me. It took patient coaxing, soft words, and slow movements before she finally crept closer. The moment she started eating, her whole demeanor changed. The fear faded, replaced by cautious curiosity.

By the time she finished, she let me stroke her fur—just a little. We sat together for a while before I had to leave, but this time, I walked away with a little more hope.

Waiting and Wondering

The summer heat kept me inside most days, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the cat encounter and the stray orange cat I had met under that parked car. But last night, when the air finally cooled, I went back—with fresh food, just in case.

I called softly, shook the bag, and waited. But she never appeared.

Maybe she found a safer place. Maybe someone else took her in. Or maybe the streets were just too harsh.

All I know is this: I hope she’s okay. I hope her kittens, wherever they are, are safe. And I hope, if she’s still out there, she finds kindness—whether from me or from someone else.