A guest in our shelter!

A guest in our shelter!

Hey! Let me introduce you to my new buddy, Ayed. We stumbled upon him meowing outside our shelter on the morning of October 2nd, 2024. He’s not your average feline; this cat deserves a family to call his own. His previous owners must have dashed off, leaving him behind, probably due to some chaos that unfolded last night. You see, our neighborhood took a beating, with nearly 90 souls lost and many more injured.

I was the first to welcome him. I am an early riser these days, thanks to my knack for exhausting myself during the day just to catch some shut-eye before the nightly ‘party’ begins. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Anyway, Ayed looked at me with those pleading eyes, and I couldn’t resist. I scooped him up, trembling and all, and tried to reassure him. He was a bit grubby, so I joked about him needing a shower, just like me!

Now, mind you, this isn’t my place; it’s a shelter I share with 41 other folks, and my aunt Samah detests cats. She once leaped over the table like an Olympian when our cat Khamees strolled in. But I decided to give it a shot. Carrying Ayed, I headed back inside, and the kids’ faces lit up with excitement. Some were scared, which puzzled me. How could anyone fear this angelic creature when we’re dodging rockets from above?

After some negotiation, we struck a deal: Ayed would stay in the small sandy square beside the village house we occupy. We turned a WFP food parcel into his cozy abode and improvised meals for him since cat food was out of the question. At first, he turned his nose up at the rations, much like we did, but cats are resilient creatures. After a week or so, he adjusted to everything—the food, the water, even the explosions. Whenever he heard a strong blast, he’d instantly jump into his makeshift home and cover his head, making us all chuckle. After all, cats supposedly have seven lives, and Ayed seemed to be struggling to keep them all intact.

We had to come up with a name, tossing aside common cat monikers. We settled on Ayed, which means “returner.” We hoped that one day, we’d return to our homes in Gaza City and take him with us if no one claimed him.