It was a hot afternoon when I took a shortcut through an alley behind an abandoned building. As I walked past a pile of trash and broken boards, something caught my eye—a small, motionless figure stuck beside an old glue trap meant for rodents. I stepped closer and gasped. It was a stray cat, half-buried in dust and debris, completely stuck in the thick, sticky glue. Its fur was matted, its eyes half-closed, and its breathing shallow.
The poor cat had clearly been there for hours—maybe even days. It had struggled so hard that the glue had torn patches of fur from its body. Its limbs were stretched at painful angles, and yet, not a single sound came from its mouth. It was too exhausted, too close to giving up. All of its strength had been drained in silence. My heart broke just looking at it.
Without thinking twice, I rushed back home to grab a towel, scissors, cooking oil, and a small box. I returned quickly, speaking softly to the cat. “I’m here. You’re safe now.” It couldn’t move, but I saw a flicker of life in its eyes—like it recognized hope for the first time in a long time.
Gently, I poured the oil onto the glued areas, carefully working to free each paw, each piece of fur, one at a time. It took over an hour, but I didn’t stop. Slowly, the cat began to relax, as if it realized it wasn’t alone anymore. Once freed, I wrapped it in a towel and held it close. Its body was weak, but its heart still beat.
I rushed the cat to a nearby animal clinic. The vet said it was severely dehydrated and injured, but thanks to the rescue, it had a real chance to recover.
That stray cat had been moments away from death, silent and suffering. But sometimes, even when you can’t cry out, an angel finds you anyway. That day, I wasn’t just a passerby—I was that cat’s second chance at life.
