Finding Home: A Cat's Inspiring Story
Seven Lives, one community read about the best stray cat ever, Adelo of Kampala, and her food adventures and affirmation messages about courage, strength, and self-belief.
Affirmation: "I am adaptable and resourceful, finding sustenance and joy in unexpected places."
Finding Home: A Cat's Inspiring Story
Adelo, a sleek, dust-colored cat with eyes like polished amber, wasn't owned by anyone, yet she belonged to everyone in the Seldou Gardens. She wasn’t a pet, confined by walls and leashes; she was a musanifu, a wanderer, a part of the vibrant rhythm of the neighborhood. Her territory was the patchwork of gardens, courtyards, and alleyways, each offering a unique culinary experience.
Mama Nakato, with her overflowing spice garden, always left a small dish of fish stew simmered with matoke and fragrant herbs by her back step. Adelo knew the precise time each afternoon, the scent of the stew a reliable clock. The stew, rich and savory, was Adelo's favorite, a taste of home she never truly had.
Then there was Mr. Okello, the tailor. He wasn’t a cat person, not really. But he appreciated Adelo’s quiet presence as she sunned herself on his porch, a living, breathing dust bunny against the vibrant fabrics he displayed. He would often toss her scraps of chicken from his lunch, carefully deboned, of course. Adelo found the chicken rather bland compared to Mama Nakato's stew, but it was a reliable source of protein, and she never turned down a free meal.
At the bakery owned by Auntie Rose, Adelo discovered a different kind of treasure. Auntie Rose, with flour perpetually dusting her apron, would leave out a saucer of warm milk, sweetened with a touch of honey. The milk, thick and sweet, was a comforting treat, especially on cool mornings when the mist hung heavy over the gardens. Adelo learned that the best time to visit the bakery was just after the morning rush, when the milk was still warm from the stove.
Adelo's life wasn't just about the food. She knew the rhythm of the neighborhood, the changing light, the sounds of children playing, the gossip exchanged between neighbors. She observed the intricate dance of human interactions, the unspoken language of gestures and glances. She noticed how some people rushed by, oblivious to her presence, while others offered a gentle scratch behind the ears or a soft word.
One day, a new family moved into the district. They had brought with them a fluffy white Persian cat named Snow, who wore a jeweled collar and ate from a fancy bowl. Snow looked at Adelo with disdain, wrinkling her nose at the dust on her fur. Adelo simply blinked her amber eyes and continued her rounds.
The new family, trying to be welcoming, started leaving out bowls of dry kibble. Snow devoured it, but Adelo only sniffed at it with mild curiosity. It lacked the soul of Mama Nakato’s stew, the simple generosity of Mr. Okello’s chicken, the warm comfort of Auntie Rose’s milk. It was just…food.
Then the rains came, a torrential deluge that seemed to wash away everything familiar. The comforting scent of Mama Nakato’s stew no longer drifted through the air. Mr. Okello’s porch, her sunbathing spot, was now a cold, wet surface.
The warm, sweet milk from Auntie Rose’s bakery was replaced by the sight of closed shutters. The new family’s kibble, which Snow devoured with gusto, offered Adelo no comfort. It was a poor substitute for the flavors and warmth she had come to rely on.
As the days passed and the rain continued, Adelo’s coat lost its sheen, and her movements became sluggish. The villagers, seeing her growing thin and listless, began to understand that Adelo was more than just a stray; she was a part of their shared life, a silent witness to their joys and sorrows.
