My story with cats began long before I ever knew the word “rescue.”

I was ten years old when I watched our family cat get hurled against a wall for simply pooping in my cousin’s shoe. She had no litter box, no safe space, and was locked indoors overnight only to be “useful” as a hunter. I will never forget how she bled from her nose and staggered away, never to return. For years afterward, I saw her pass by our house with a train of kittens behind her, pretending not to know us. And I couldn’t blame her.

What I remember most from that day was my silence. I didn’t speak up for her. I was a timid, shy girl who never spoke up for myself either. Yet that memory never left me. Every time I witnessed cruelty toward animals, I felt the same guilt of not doing anything.

Years later, I met Echo, a small, fragile cat I had watched suffer for months. The first time a fish vendor kicked her for simply sitting beneath the fish stand, I knew I had to help. Saving her terrified me. My family already had a cat, and I feared they wouldn’t understand. The society around me had taught me that kindness was for people, not animals. But a voice inside me whispered that if something happened to Echo, it would be my fault for doing nothing.

So, I rescued her.

I had no experience, no veterinarian, and no knowledge of where to begin. I begged a friend and neighbour to hide her for me and brought food whenever I could. She was malnourished and covered in fleas. Thankfully, I found people who would change my life. Denise from Lock, Shock & Barrel – The Kitten Chronicles mentored me, teaching me how to keep sick kittens alive through long, exhausting nights. Dr. Alex from Vetluv Pet Travel & Pet Clinic also saw my passion before I fully understood it myself. He treated animals in my care when I had nothing to give in return, simply because they needed help. I call him my father in animal welfare because that is truly what he was to me at the time.

In my community, cats were deeply misunderstood, often associated with evil, witchcraft, or bad luck. Having one cat to keep rats away was understandable; having many was considered strange. Neighbours whispered about me, people questioned my choices, and even my family worried about what I was doing. My father asked me, “Why cats? Why not people?”

But I had found my answer. All my life, I had been taught to be kind to people, yet I knew kindness should never be limited. Animals feel, they bleed, and they love, just like us.

Slowly, things began to change. My mother quietly supported me, remembering her own mother’s love for cats. My father, although initially resistant, began to soften. One day, he asked me what I really wanted to do with all these cats. I told him about my dream of creating a sanctuary: a safe haven where abandoned, neglected, and abused cats could find healing and love.

To my surprise, he offered me a small piece of land. He may not have fully understood my dream, but he supported me, and that gave me the courage to bring it to life.

That is how The Cradle was born.

In the beginning, it was just me, stumbling through sleepless nights with fragile kittens, feeding them with my school savings and crying over every loss. Slowly, my family joined me. Those who once doubted me began volunteering alongside me, and neighbours who had once whispered became part of our rescue network.

Through rescuing, feeding, nursing, and loving these cats, I found myself too. I discovered self-worth, purpose, and a capacity to love that I hadn’t known existed. In many ways, they rescued me as much as I rescued them.

That realization became the heart of everything we do at The Cradle.