Nala’s Adoption Story

Nala’s story isn’t just about a cat finding a home. It’s about a mother who fought tooth and nail for her kittens, a survivor who carried herself with quiet dignity despite the scars of her past. Nala has been through so much—she’s faced challenges that most of us can’t imagine, but somehow, through it all, she remained the calm, composed soul we adore today.

When Nala first arrived in our home, she was so fragile, so timid, we could hardly recognize the warrior that lay beneath. She was terrified of everything. The world was a loud, unfamiliar place to her, and she didn’t want to face it. She found a hiding spot up on top of the refrigerator, a tiny space where she could be alone, where she felt safe. Every time we would search for her, it felt like a game—checking every nook and cranny, only to find her still hiding in the same place, not a sound escaping from her. It was as if she was trying to disappear, as if she couldn’t bear to face another uncertain moment.

And then, one day, we realized something. We started playing kitten sounds, hoping she would hear them and be drawn out. And slowly, she came. It was heartbreaking to see how much she missed her babies. They were her whole world, and now they were gone, but the love she had for them still echoed in her eyes.

It didn’t take long before Nala became a part of our daily life in ways we never expected. Her favorite time of day became the mornings, when the sound of the tap running in the bathroom would fill the house. She’d come out of hiding, her little paws patting along the floor, her eyes soft and trusting. She didn’t ask for much—just a sip of lukewarm water from the tap, like a tiny ritual she had created to find some peace.

But there are still things that shake her. The garbage truck—oh, how that sound terrifies her. She hears it coming, even from a distance, and her whole-body tenses. She doesn’t understand it, and so, she hides. It’s on those days that she’s a little more cautious, a little more distant. And the vacuum cleaner? Forget it. The sound sends her into hiding every single time. It’s funny, isn’t it? 

And yet, despite her fears, Nala is a cat of few words, but her presence speaks volumes. She doesn’t meow often, but when she does, it’s like a tiny whisper from her heart. It’s funny how she’ll wander around when we’re not home, calling out to make sure she’s not alone, but once she hears our footsteps, she settles down again. It's as if she just needed to know she was safe, needed the reassurance that we were still there.

She doesn’t meow much, but her silence is a language all its own. She speaks with her eyes, with her soft purring, with the way she curls up beside us when she’s feeling secure. And when I play my music, she’ll sit next to me, watching the instruments like she’s listening with her whole being. It’s like she has a sense of the rhythm, of the melody, and she responds to it in her own quiet way.

Nala has a way of knowing exactly who is in the house, too. The sound of footsteps—whether it’s mine, my husband’s, or our daughter’s—tells her everything she needs to know. She knows exactly when to run and hide, and exactly when to come to us for a little attention. There’s something so precious about the way she does that, the way she makes us feel like we’re her whole world, too.

She’s a little bit of a mystery, this cat of ours. She has her quirks, her fears, but she also has this immense capacity for love. We know that she’s been through so much—lost her kittens, fought to survive, and learned to trust again. And yet, despite it all, she’s found a way to give her heart to us.

I wonder, sometimes, what she’s thinking. If she could talk, I imagine she’d tell us all about her kittens—how much she misses them, how they were her whole world. I’m sure there are stories in those eyes of hers, stories of a mother who did everything to protect her babies, of a cat who fought and survived for them. And now, as we sit here together, she’s found a new family to love.

Nala is home. She’s finally found her kingdom, It’s here, with us. And every day, she shows us in her own quiet way how much she loves us, how much she trusts us, how much she has to give.

 Nala, our brave, sweet, and gentle girl. Our little Snowball. Our Gravy Queen.