Lent is a period of return — a return to faith, to reflection, and to kindness. And in the first week of Lent this year, kindness waited for me on Moi Avenue.
Amid the noise of the city and hurried footsteps, I noticed a tiny kitten resting quietly on the pavement — so small and still that I almost stepped on her. Startled, she dashed away and disappeared behind a parked car, leaving me standing there with a question many rescuers know too well: Do I walk on, or do I stop?
I paused.
Will she be fine? What if no one else notices her, or chooses to be kind?
I took a few steps forward… then something gently pulled me back.
“Psss psss,” I called softly.
From behind the car, she emerged, cautious yet trusting — as though she had already made her choice. Without resistance, she allowed herself to be lifted into unfamiliar arms, surrendering not out of fear, but faith.
With no carrier and curious onlookers watching, I carried her down the street, a small life pressed carefully against my shoulder. For a moment, the busy city faded, and compassion felt simple again.
She became my unexpected little guest at the salon, resting quietly as if she had always belonged. My hairdresser kindly found a small box to keep her safe — a temporary shelter for a life in transition.
When it was time to go home, I boarded a matatu with my precious cargo. No one noticed the small life I was carrying. We alighted safely and headed straight home to meet Luna.
It hasn’t been easy yet. Luna is still adjusting one month later, still unsure of this new presence. But I am hopeful that, with time, she will understand. After all, it was kindness that once found her too, and perhaps, in that quiet understanding, she will learn to make room for another.
Sometimes Lent is not only about what we give up.
Sometimes it is about who we choose to stop for.
Kindness, once answered, always finds its way home.
🐾 Whisker Wonders — telling stories of kindness, one paw at a time.
