I wasn’t expecting to be out there that long.
They said it was just a volunteer sweep—help the last few families evacuate, check rooftops, basic stuff. I’d done this kind of thing before, thrown on the vest, stayed focused. Get in, get out, move on.
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But something felt different that morning. Maybe it was the weird stillness in the air. Or how the floodwaters were hugging the sidewalks like they’d lived there all along.
We’d just passed an abandoned strip mall when I thought I heard it. Honestly, I figured it was debris or wind. But then—again. Softer this time. Desperate.
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A meow.
I called out. Nothing.
Then I stepped a little closer, eyes scanning the debris and the rising water, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. The streets were eerily quiet except for the occasional wave lapping at the sides of overturned cars and the distant hum of helicopters. It wasn’t a sound I expected to hear in the midst of a disaster.
“Hello?” I called out again, hoping to get some response.
And then, just like that, I saw it. A tiny kitten, barely bigger than my hand, clinging to a piece of wood that was floating just above the waterline. Its fur was matted and soaked, and it looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
I froze for a moment, my mind racing. I hadn’t signed up for rescuing animals, especially not during a flood. There were people to help, families to evacuate. But there was this kitten.
I don’t know what it was that made me act. Maybe it was the helplessness in its eyes, or maybe I just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving something that small and innocent to fend for itself. But before I even fully processed the decision, I was in the water, carefully maneuvering toward it.
The current wasn’t too strong, but the water was deep enough to make me cautious. The last thing I needed was to lose my footing and end up swept away, but the kitten’s fragile meow kept echoing in my ears, urging me forward.
I reached out with one hand, gently scooping the little creature into my arms. It squirmed a bit, but I held it close, wrapping my jacket around its tiny, trembling body as best as I could.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmured, even though I knew it wasn’t. Nothing about this was okay.
I waded back toward higher ground, heart pounding not just from the effort of crossing through the rising floodwaters but from the worry for the kitten. What was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just carry it around while trying to finish my job. It was already a distraction, one I hadn’t planned on.
Once I reached solid ground, I made my way toward the nearest rescue vehicle, where volunteers were organizing evacuees. The man in charge, a grizzled firefighter, gave me a look as I approached, his brow furrowing as I held the wet kitten close to my chest.
“Got a casualty, huh?” he said with a half-smile.
“Just a kitten,” I said, trying to keep the awkwardness out of my voice. “Found it stranded in the water. I’m not sure what to do next.”
He shrugged. “Take it to the animal shelter down the road. They’ve been set up for rescues. They’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, thankful for the direction. But as I turned to leave, the firefighter called out to me.
“Hey, you did good. Not a lot of people would’ve bothered with a little thing like that right now. People tend to focus on the big stuff, but it’s the small things that matter too.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just nodded again and headed out.
I took the kitten to the shelter, which was busy but organized. The staff took it from me, checking it over for signs of injury and giving me a quick nod of thanks. I didn’t stick around, not wanting to take up any more time than necessary.
I went back to my work, finishing up the evacuation and helping clear debris where I could. But every time I caught myself thinking about the kitten, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done something more important than just moving people out of harm’s way. I’d saved a life, even if it was just a tiny one. And that, somehow, made everything feel a little more worthwhile.
The next day, I went back to the shelter, just to check in. I was in the area anyway, helping out where I could. When I walked in, a familiar volunteer waved me over.
“Hey! You’re the one who found that kitten, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, it’s a good thing you did. The little guy’s a fighter. We’ve been calling him ‘Noah’—he was in rough shape, but he’s already improving. If you’re interested, we’d be happy to let you adopt him once he’s ready. We can’t keep him here long-term.”
I didn’t know what to say at first. Adoption? I hadn’t even considered it. But I couldn’t deny that after what I’d seen, the thought of leaving the kitten at the shelter felt wrong. I had already formed some kind of bond with him, even if it was brief. I remembered holding him tightly in my arms, feeling his small heartbeat, knowing I was the only thing standing between him and the floodwaters.
“I’ll take him,” I said, surprising myself with the decision.
The volunteer smiled. “Great! We’ll let you know when he’s all clear. You’ve earned it. Besides, I think he’s taken quite a liking to you already.”
And that’s how I found myself with a new, very tiny companion. Noah, the kitten who had somehow found his way into my life amidst the chaos of a flood.
Life went back to normal—or at least, what passed for normal in the aftermath of a natural disaster. But Noah and I became inseparable. He was there when I got home, curling up in my lap as if he had always belonged there.
As the months passed, Noah grew healthier, stronger, and more playful. It felt like everything I’d done to help him had come full circle. I had given him a chance at life, and in return, he gave me something I didn’t realize I needed—comfort, companionship, and a reminder that small acts of kindness really do matter.
But here’s where the twist came in—months later, the shelter called me again. They had been going through their records when they realized something. Noah wasn’t just any kitten. He was part of a rare breed—a breed that was in high demand, and one that people would pay a lot of money for.
But they weren’t calling me to ask for Noah back. No, the shelter’s surprise wasn’t just about his value as a pet.
The shelter offered me something else. A reward. A monetary one, for giving him the care he needed. It was a small amount, but it was unexpected. The money was supposed to go toward funding future rescues, and they wanted to make sure I was compensated for the role I’d played in Noah’s recovery.
The unexpected windfall was enough to make a difference. It wasn’t life-changing money, but it was something—something that made me realize that doing the right thing, even for a small creature, could lead to something bigger. Not just in terms of tangible rewards, but in terms of the gratitude I felt every day knowing I had made a difference.
The karmic twist in all of this wasn’t just that I helped Noah, but that in doing so, I was unknowingly planting the seeds for my own good fortune. The reward came unexpectedly, but it reaffirmed what I had already come to believe: that acts of kindness, no matter how small, have a way of coming back around when you least expect it.
So, if you’re ever faced with a choice—big or small—choose kindness. You never know how far it can reach or how it might come back to benefit you.
