She stuck her paw out of the crate as if to say, “Let me out.” She didn’t know she was on her way home.

The alarm rings. Not your usual snooze-and-roll-over kind of alarm — this is the Mochi’s going on a plane alarm.

Checklist time: food bowls lifted so she doesn’t sneak a last-minute snack, passport and ticket money checked, crate lined with pads, special plastic zippers locked, name tag written.

I place Mochi inside the crate. Sprinkle a little catnip to keep her calm during her journey. A paw shoots out like a tiny protest sign: “Excuse me, ma’am, what exactly is happening here?” She doesn’t know — how could she? — that this scary little trip is her bridge to a forever family.

She’s only been with me eight months, but that’s the only home she knows. I am her person. And I can’t help but wonder: when she settles, will she understand what I did for her? Maybe. Maybe not.

Where It Began

Mochi’s story didn’t start in a crate.

She was once a tiny calico kitten, sitting alone in a cold winter garden — no mother, no siblings, just a small wound and a circle of dogs sniffing around her. One of the security guards spotted her on his way to his shift.

Many people would have walked past without giving it much thought. But over the years, as I fed my colony and rescued cats in front of the security and garage workers, something shifted in them. They began to see animals through a different lens. Rescue didn’t seem strange anymore — it became normal, even possible.

That day, he called me and asked if he could bring her to me. I couldn’t say no. He showed up at my doorstep with this fragile, wide-eyed kitten, and that was the beginning. She blossomed into a resilient, strong-headed calico girl — the Mochi I zipped into a crate eight months later.

The Flight

We drive to the airport. For me, it’s just a few hours of waiting, talking rescue tidbits with fellow rescuers, swapping WhatsApps about other traveling cats. For her, it must have felt like intergalactic travel — the noise, the smells, the fear.

When she landed in Frankfurt, her adopter — who had traveled all the way from Brussels to pick her up — sent me a photo. Mochi looked confused, exhausted, and slightly betrayed. My heart sank. But I knew she was in good hands.

This wasn’t just any adopter. Fourteen years ago, she adopted a silver Mau cat from me, a boy I had named Silver Sultan. I’d found him one night on the street as I was heading to dinner with friends. He was under a year old, far too friendly to survive long out there. So I scooped him up, and in time, he made his way to her.

Silver Sultan has been with her ever since — loved and cared for all these years. So when Mochi went into her arms, I felt a wave of relief. A full circle — trust, love, and continuity. Few things in rescue feel as rare, or as precious.

Back to Routine

Then back home: cats to feed, medicine to give, updates from boarding, clinics, and fosters.

How many times have I done this now? At first, I tried to count. Not anymore. The numbers blur. The feelings don’t: worry for the one that left, anxiety for the ones still here, and a head buzzing with surgeries, vet bills, and looming financials.

A One-Person Shelter

Here’s the truth no one tells you: what I do every day isn’t supposed to be the work of one person. In another country, this would be handled by a shelter with staff and volunteers.

But in Egypt, with stray and abandoned pets far outnumbering the few shelters we have, individuals like me end up carrying the load of an entire system.

Is it sustainable? Probably not.

Can I look away? Definitely not.

Will things change soon? Honestly… doubtful.

The Adoption Hurdles

On top of it all, international adoption has become harder. Inflation makes people think twice. And let’s face it — everyone wants the fluffy, Instagram-ready cats.

Meanwhile, I have a lineup of short-haired domestics and cats with disabilities. They’re just as loving, just as deserving — but not always the “pretty ones.”

Why We Keep Going

So, how has this been going for nearly 20 years? I don’t know. But I do know this: the moment I see a photo of a cat curled up safe in their forever home, every sleepless night and every headache vanishes.

Because that’s what it’s about.

The Bigger Picture

Is rescue life different elsewhere? I doubt it. Rescuers everywhere live in a loop: endless rescues, the dread of spotting another animal in need, the fear of answering that call or message about a cat dumped on the street.

We rush to post advice, fight against mistreatment, and raise awareness. But most of the time, it feels like we’re talking to ourselves, inside the rescue bubble.

The only real solution? Education on a massive scale. Start in kindergarten. Teach kids that pets are family, not toys. Show them the beauty of all domestic cats and dogs, so specific breeds stop getting all the love. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll raise a generation that adopts adults, not just kittens and puppies.

And Tomorrow…

For now, one cat has traveled. How many more to go? Too many to count.

But I keep going. I’ve been saying that for 18 years now.

And tomorrow, I’ll probably say it again.

✨ Because for Mochi, and for Silver Sultan before her, and for every cat after them, it’s worth it.

💌 If you’d like to follow Mochi’s updates — and many more rescue stories — you can find me on Facebook (EgyPaws Cat Rescue) or Instagram (@simbakis).