Since 2024, I have worked as a dean at a high school in South Los Angeles that has a large stray cat population. That fall, I rescued two cats, a mama and son; when the mama seemed sick, I raced her to an emergency animal hospital and, in tears following a terminal diagnosis, had to put her to sleep. I then took her son to live with me, and since then I have become a de facto one-woman cat rescue (saving, taking in/fostering other cats, learning to do TNR, giving out cat food, loaning traps and carriers, and generally helping students and staff get resources, and the like). I always spent my own money.

A little under three weeks ago, however, an emergency struck, and I could not look away.

A 10th grade boy came back after school with a very sick grey kitty in his arms, and he asked the office to call me. He told me he was walking, and the cat approached HIM, and when he bent down, the cat jumped on his knee and then up into his arms and onto his shoulders, as if to say "HELP ME!" At first, I thought the cat just had a URI because his eyes and nose were oozing gunk. I asked him if he could take the cat to a vet, but he had neither money nor anyone who could take him.

I was dismayed, but how could I abandon this poor unloved soul who reached out for human help? So at 6pm on a school night, I took "Licky" (nicknamed by the boy) to the least expensive animal ER I knew of (Ace in San Pedro), where some initial tests revealed bad news: not just an upper respiratory infection but also FIV+ and a slew of other issues, including severe dehydration and malnourishment (actually wasting away, likely due to parasites from fleas). The vet presented me with an aggressive course of treatment, starting with an overnight stay. The total bill was a little over $3400. This sum is a LOT for me, but as the vet pointed out, no one ever loved this poor little kitty and he thought Licky had a 70-80% chance of a full recovery. Without this treatment, Licky would die. I could not have lived with myself if I'd had to bring this lovable little boy back to the street to die in a hawk's beak or coyote's mouth or in a gutter.

The next day, the vet called to say he was doing much better, so I picked him up and brought him to a very loving and experienced foster family in West Covina and was so touched to see how happy he was to curl up in a cozy bed for the first time in his life. Their son re-christened him Max. Two days later, I brought Max back to the vet for a nebulizer treatment, and they said he seemed to be recovering from the URI. After I brought him back to the foster, I helped them give him all the meds and had some time to hold him in my arms like a baby. This is when I started to fall in love with him. I knew I'd do anything to help him.

On Tuesday, three days later, despite the best care and ALL the meds, my foster friend said he was having accidents and not eating or drinking. I was so worried that I was prepared to take him back to the vet, but when I called the vet, I learned his upper respiratory panel blood work had come back and revealed chlamydia and mycoplasma, a parasitic blood infection. Meanwhile, he'd also started eating again, so I figured we could wait one more day.

I drove down to the vet the next day and picked up a new antibiotic, then drove back to the foster family to find Max waiting for me in a sunny spot near the door. He didn't seem to be in good shape, but we gave him all his meds, including the new one (Doxycycline). Then I took him into my arms for the most precious snuggle session. I kissed his precious head and face. He put his head on my shoulder and just rested as if he never wanted to go anywhere else. He looked into my eyes and put his nose to mine. By this time, I was utterly in love. It was hard to leave that night.

The next morning I received devastating news from my friend: he had died during the night. We knew he was very sick and skin and bones, but we were all so hopeful the new antibiotic would help! I was in pieces. I could not go to work. I could not stop crying.

Now, a little over a week since his death, I'm still grieving. My mom said he was "an angel in transit" and was on "the path of souls." I am staggered by how painful this loss has been for me.

Yet the work goes on! Since then, my reputation has only grown, and I've helped more kitties (and an injured starling!) at work. I'm trying to channel my grief into helping more cats like Licky/Max, but my financial cushion for this work is depleted.

I would be grateful for any contributions, no matter how small, so I can continue to help all of our furry (and even feathered) friends, as well as the kind-hearted kids who love them, in South Central. They all deserve better, and I'm not going to stop doing everything I can.