The Cat-tastic Nora





The Shoebox That Changed Everything



One day during my homeschooling session, a student walked in beaming, holding a shoebox like it was treasure. "Teacher, teacher! I got something for you… I know you like cats!" Naturally, I assumed it was a drawing, maybe a cat figurine.


But when I opened the box... Four tiny kittens. Blinking. Meowing. Staring right at me, like, “Are you our mum?” I was stunned. My heart said yes. My head said “oh no.” Because here’s the thing I know my husband would say no. But I cant turn away from this tiny helpless living being. It’s a gift from a student.


How can I say no. My daughter was in on it and together, we did what any responsible cat lovers would do... We plotted. Operation Secret Kittens began. We set up a mini hideout in my daughter’s bathroom soft towels, little bowls, hush-hush snuggles.


For a while, it was just the three of us: Me My daughter And four furry secrets living rent-free in a daughter’s bathroom. That shoebox didn’t just carry kittens. It carried joy, chaos, whispered giggles, and the beginning of my transformation into a full-blown crazy cat lady (with accomplices).


People say you choose cats… But sometimes, they arrive unannounced in a shoebox—and change your life forever. Most of the cats that come to me are adult, independent, and low maintenance.


They know how to find the food bowl, throw shade, and knock things off shelves like seasoned professionals. These, however these were kittens. Tiny. Wobbly. Helpless. Squeaky little balls of fur who didn’t just need food they needed me. They needed to be bottle-fed.





Now, I had never fed a kitten with a bottle before. In fact, my experience with kittens up until that moment had been limited to watching viral videos of them doing adorable things and occasionally hissing at their own reflection. But how hard could it be, right? I warmed the milk, filled the miniature bottle, and knelt down.


The moment I touched the bottle to their mouths, instinct kicked in not just theirs, but mine too. They latched on like champs, their tiny mouths suckling eagerly. And their ears—oh, their ears fluttered like soft little radar dishes, twitching front and back with every swallow. Something stirred deep within me. Something ancient. Primal.


A strange blend of awe and affection. It’s hard to explain the pleasure of that moment the way their eyes closed in satisfaction, their paws gently kneading the air as if remembering a mother’s belly, and that delicate rhythm of suckle-suckle-pause-suckle. I could have watched them all day.


For a brief moment, I forgot everything else, In that little pocket of time, I was a kitten mama, and proud of it. Somehow, no matter how much or how often I fed them, they were always hungry whenever they were awake. Their little cries and relentless rooting made me feel like I was doing something wrong. I started reading more, trying to estimate their age, and finally realised it was time to start them on solid food.





I went out and bought a packet of kitten food, still unsure if they’d take to it. But the moment I placed the food on a plate, they pounced. Not a pause. Not a second of hesitation. They gobbled it up in an instant like tiny, starved gremlins in fur coats.


They were hungry. Very hungry. And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. With full bellies and food-smeared whiskers, they toppled over like little drunk sailors and fell fast asleep. Just like that. And then, just like that, they started to play with each other. Little kittens chasing tails, tumbling over each other, darting across the bed, diving under it like tiny ninjas. It was chaos.


Adorable, high-speed chaos. I was completely entertained, sitting there like a proud audience member at a very fuzzy circus. My daughter, however, wasn’t quite as charmed. In the morning, she would quietly lamenting “They keep jumping on me… I can’t sleep…” I gave her the most motherly response I could think of: “Learn to tolerate.” 😏


One day, we all went out for a movie. I wasn’t worried they’d be fine. The room was kitten-proofed, food and water set up, door closed. They were safe. Or so I thought. When we got home, we walked into the room and… silence. No kittens. I called out, did the classic frantic parent scan under the bed, behind the door, in the laundry basket (twice). Nothing.


The room wasn’t that big, yet they had vanished. Just when I was about to panic, I noticed a slight movement behind the curtain. There they were all four of them curled up in a fuzzy, purring pile on the window ledge, completely hidden by the curtain. Snuggled together like little dumplings in a secret steam basket. Smart. Warm. Safe. And absolutely not where I expected.


Then there was that other time. We had just come back from dinner stomachs full, hearts content—ready to check in on the furry gremlins. As usual, we headed straight to their regular hideouts: under the bed, behind the curtain, the trusty window ledge. But nothing. No squeaks. No scurrying paws. No twitching tails. Just silence. A slight panic set in. I called their names (not that they’d respond), lifted pillows, checked the laundry basket, even opened the cupboard just in case they'd figured out latches. Still nothing.


Then, just as I was starting to question reality, we saw it the blanket on the bed… it moved. Ever so slightly. I held my breath, slowly lifted the edge and there they were. All four kittens, eyes wide and shining, nestled deep in the folds of the blanket like they’d discovered the coziest secret cave in the world.


When they saw us, they didn’t run. They didn’t meow. They just stared delighted, like “Oh good, the humans are back!” Little rascals. Tiny masters of hide-and-seek. And clearly, getting smarter every day.





The Great Kitten Discovery



For almost three months, my daughter and I had managed to keep our furry little secret well-hidden. Operation Shoebox was running smoothly. The kittens were growing, playing, and turning her bedroom into a full-on feline playground.


But every secret has its moment of truth. And ours came… one quiet evening. I had gone out, and my daughter teenager that she was in her room, lost in music with her headphones on. My husband got home, called out to us… but got no response.


Curious (and maybe slightly suspicious), he walked to my daughter’s room, opened the door… And there they were. Four kittens. Sitting upright. On the blanket on the bed. All of them staring directly at him. Like a furry welcoming committee caught in the act.


He went. Bonkers. Angry. Demanding answers. My daughter, startled and panicked, called me immediately. I came rushing home, only to walk straight into a storm of shouting and paw-sibilities. We had a heated argument.


He was furious that I’d kept the kittens a secret all this while. He didn’t care how cute they were, or how we had created a loving mini daycare for them. His verdict: “They go. Now.” It wasn’t the ending I’d hoped for… But it wasn’t the end of our journey together.


The kittens had become part of our lives, and this was just another chapter in the adventure that started with a shoebox… and a secret. And so, with a heavy heart, I packed up the little ones now eating on their own, active and curious and brought them to the homeschooling centre, which had thankfully become my second home.


So that night, I brought the kittens now officially evicted from our home to the only other place I knew they’d be safe: the homeschooling centre where they first brought over in a shoe box. It started as a temporary fix… But little did I know, it was the beginning of a new chapter for them and for the kids.


The kittens settled in quickly. They were already off the bottle and eating on their own, which made things easier. We set them up in a spare room with cozy blankets, a litter box, food, and toys (some of which may or may not have been borrowed from the kids’ art supplies... shhh). And just like that, the centre transformed. They grew up surrounded by giggles, curious hands, gentle cuddles, and the occasional crayon incident.


The students adored them. The kittens became the unofficial school mascots sometimes showing up during lessons, sometimes napping under the whiteboard, sometimes boldly walking across someone’s workbook mid-math exercise. Even my students with the shortest attention spans suddenly became focused... because who wants to finish their worksheet faster so they can go play with the kittens? Everyone.


And me? I got to see them grow healthy, happy, and loved. The kittens may not have had the quiet bedroom life I once hoped for, but they found something even better: A home and family. And they returned the love in the most cat-like ways by choosing their favourite lap, stealing pencils, and occasionally sitting on someone’s science project.


So yes, my husband may have kicked them out of the house... but in a way, they found their forever home, right in the heart of where learning, laughter, and fur now lived side by side.



nmadasamy@nmadasamy.com