The Litter Box Diaries (Part 2)

The Litter Box Diaries is a heartfelt mini-memoir series following the adventures of a stray cat named Chonky, who, against all odds, found his way into a loving home. At the time of writing, Chonky's fate remains uncertain, but it is my sincerest hope that his journey continues with love, warmth, and endless treats. This candid account captures not just Chonky's resilience but the joy, humour, and gentle chaos he brought to those fortunate enough to share his story.

This week, I explored the depths of the concrete jungle, navigating alleys where shadows stretched long and the air carried the faint scent of fried food and damp stone. Every corner held a story—discarded wrappers crumpled like forgotten whispers, puddles reflecting the restless sky, and once, the rustle of a rat that darted out of reach before I could pounce.

Still, no matter how far my paws carried me, I found myself drawn back to the factory. It was a strange, noisy sanctuary, a place where the machines roared with a steady, predictable hum. And most importantly, it was where food appeared like clockwork, left behind by kind hands or perhaps those too busy to remember they’d placed it there.

Each day, I approached with careful steps, nose quivering as the warm, savoury scent of scraps drifted out. The humans inside had begun to take notice. They’d glance my way with knowing smiles, chuckling or speaking in tones that were almost as soft as the breeze. One or two had started leaving small bowls of water, which felt like a luxury compared to the murky puddles I had grown used to.

I never lingered too long, wary of their unpredictable movements. Hands that reached out too fast would still make me bolt. But when the day’s search for scraps left me more tired than triumphant, I’d find my paws taking me back to the factory. It was easier to trust a place that, so far, had only given without asking for anything in return.

As I gnawed at a piece of chicken one afternoon, I could hear their voices, warm with amusement. They didn’t have a name for me yet; I was just the cat who’d started showing up. But there was comfort in that anonymity, a freedom in being a nameless shadow who could come and go without expectations.

The city still had its challenges—sharp, barking dogs; metal beasts with glaring eyes; and alleys that could turn unfriendly with a single clatter. But in the factory, the hum of machines masked those threats, and the scent of food welcomed me back day after day. It wasn’t quite a home, but it was starting to feel like a place I wanted to return to, a spot where the cold of the city couldn’t reach me quite as easily.

For now, that was enough.