He Cry at the Curve

Suara Keheningan | RP. Inosensius Ino, O.Carm

It was Tuesday afternoon, 4:15 p.m., shortly after I finished lunch. Earlier, I had welcomed the first group of retreat participants from SMAAK Alvares at Mageria Retreat House, where I serve. Out of nowhere, I felt an urge to take a short walk. The air was calm, and the soft breeze carried a sense of quiet reflection. 

As I approached a curve near the retreat house gate, my eyes were drawn to a small, battered cardboard box lying by the side of the road. Initially, I only intended to move it aside and tidy up the area, but then I heard it—a faint, fragile sound. 

Barely audible, it was a soft cry that stopped me in my tracks. I stepped closer, and my heart sank. Beside the discarded box were three tiny kittens—two white and one brown. Their frail bodies were trembling, their fur dirty and disheveled. Their eyes, wide with fear, looked up at me as if pleading for help. My chest tightened with an overwhelming mix of pity and sorrow. How long had they been there? Abandoned, cold, and hungry, they were clinging to life in a world that had already rejected them. 

Without hesitation, I gently picked them up and brought them to the front of my room. I didn’t know what I could do for them, but one thing was clear: they deserved a chance. They deserved care, even if only for a moment. That night, their faint cries echoed through the stillness. Each meow pierced my heart, like the cry of an abandoned child longing for its mother. Unable to ignore them, I tried feeding them some Bear Brand milk. Yet, they drank only a little, their tiny mouths unsure of how to survive. 

On the early morning of January 22, at precisely 3 a.m., their cries grew louder, desperate and relentless. I woke up, gathered them in my arms, and tried to soothe them. I brought them into my room, hoping they would feel a sliver of safety. But the next day, I decided to move them further away from my room, hoping their mother might return to find them and give them the care they so desperately needed. That hope, however, was shattered. 

By evening, one of the kittens was found lifeless on the road. The sight broke me. It was as if the weight of the world had crushed something so small and innocent. Guilt and sadness washed over me. Had I made the wrong choice? Could I have done more to save it? 

Today, January 24, I brought the remaining two kittens back. I fed them the same milk and placed them under the warm sunlight, hoping it would give them strength. As I watched them, tears welled up in my eyes. 

They weren’t just kittens. They were lives—fragile, vulnerable, and deserving of love, just like any human child. I couldn’t help but think: what if these weren’t kittens? What if they were human babies, abandoned and left crying by the roadside? Would anyone walk past them without a second thought? Would we allow their cries to go unanswered? I couldn’t. These tiny kittens have taught me something profound: love should have no boundaries. 

To God, all life is precious, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to others. Perhaps they were placed in my path for a reason—to remind me of the power of compassion. I don’t know if I’ll succeed in keeping them alive. But I do know this: I will do whatever I can to give them a chance. Even if the world is cruel, they deserve love—no matter how fleeting it may be.

Anyone who would like to contribute to the care of cats can contact me or transfer directly: Email: inosigaze@gmail.com. Konto Nummer: 7156 01 028 867 535