“Mimi, Five Days Old, After Her First Visit to the Vet On 4 July 2017". Photograph © Cats Hope™
Mimi, A Love Story
[Part 1]
She was found where no life should have begun.
On a stretch of hot tar in a busy car park, a newborn lay—eyes sealed, body barely formed, still carrying the remnant of her umbilical cord. There was no mother, no shelter, only heat, fumes, and passing vehicles.
A security guard, trying to help, poured water onto the ground for her to drink. But she was too young to lap. The water spread across the petrol-stained surface, soaking her tiny body and mixing with the residue on the ground, burning her skin and coating her mouth.
She screamed—a loud, almost human shriek. She was in pain. Not the soft cry of a kitten, but something raw and continuous, like she was already at the edge of not making it.
Mother’s instinct kicked in. There was no question of leaving her there.
She was lifted from the ground and carried away from the heat and fumes. She fit into my hands—not curled, just placed there, as if she had no strength to hold herself together.
She was taken into a public washroom, washed gently under running water, and dried under a hand dryer. Then she was placed into a small box lined with tissue, something like a nest made quickly, because there was no time.
She came home that day. Not as a pet. Not as a plan. But because she would not have lived otherwise.
The first days were not gentle. She did not know how to feed or survive. She was bottle fed by hand, kept warm, and cared for constantly—as one would care for a human newborn, because that was what she was—a newborn life.
Somewhere in those hours, between crying and quiet, something began to form.
She did not simply attach. She recognised.
Even before she could see, she knew when I moved away. When I returned, she settled immediately, as if something essential had come back into place.
She opened her eyes days later—clear blue and direct. From then on, she watched closely. Not just where I was, but how I moved, when I left, and when I returned.
There were moments when I was bottle-feeding her, holding her close, and looking into her eyes, and she would look back into mine—completely still, completely present.
It felt no different from feeding a human baby. In those quiet moments, something unmistakable passed between us.
I was falling in love with her.
She was falling in love with me.
We were falling in love.
In a tiny voice, she told me her name… Mi…. Mi…. Mi… and so she came to be called Mimi.
Once she grew stronger, her true nature came out. She was playful, mischievous, and fearless. She climbed too high, leapt too far, and treated every space as something to explore.
She didn’t just play. She sparred—gripping, rolling, kicking with surprising precision, like a tiny fighter who had already decided she would win. She was an expert at soccer, parkour, MMA, and one-arm wrestling where the one arm was mine.
And then, just as suddenly, she wanted closeness. At night she would find her way near, slipping under the blanket and settling beside me.
One night, she Indian-crawled under the sheets from the foot of the bed, sidled up slowly, climbed onto the pillow, and placed her little head right next to mine, looking straight at me—completely still, as if that was exactly where she was meant to be.
I had to laugh.
She followed, not always physically, but with attention that did not break. If I stood to leave, she would reach—small paws clinging to my ankle, as if to say, “Don’t go.” Like a toddler saying, “Mommy, I want to come with you.”
When another kitten entered her life, she did not accept her straight away. It was months later and she had not learned to be with a pack of her own. It took her about a year, but when she finally did, she stepped forward, groomed her, guided her, and showed her what to do. She became, without being taught, what she herself had never had.
Mimi is not demanding. She does not push forward or compete. She waits, she gives way, but she is always there—present, aware, watching the one she chose from the beginning.
She came into my life on the day I was told I would need surgery that would take my womb.And in my hands, at that very moment, was a newborn life.There was no time to grieve. Only something small to care for. Something that needed everything.
She gave me something I did not know I needed.
A life to love.
She was not meant to survive where she was left.
But she did.
And she did not leave.
She stayed.
And in staying, she became more than a rescue.
She became the love that arrived exactly when it was needed.
Story by Tiffany Argent
Cats Hope Ambassador
A true story
“Mimi in Pink". Photograph © Cats Hope™
Mimi, A Love Story
[Part 2]
Mimi — I Found You
I don’t remember my mother.
I remember the ground.
It was hard.
And hot.
Everything was too big.
Too loud.
I called.
I didn’t know what I was calling for.
Only that something should have answered.
Nothing did.
Then you came.
I didn’t understand what was happening.
I only knew I was not alone anymore.
You picked me up.
I couldn’t hold myself.
So I stayed where you placed me.
There was water.
There was light.
There was warmth.
And then there was you.
I was very small.
I didn’t know how to eat.
But you held me and fed me.
Close.
Like I belonged there.
When I opened my eyes,
you were there.
So I kept looking.
You looked at me.
I looked at you.
We stayed like that.
Very still.
I didn’t know what it was.
But I didn’t want it to stop.
I grew.
I learned to move.
So I moved everywhere.
I climbed things I shouldn’t.
I jumped too far.
I chased everything.
I fought everything.
I always thought I could win.
But when I was tired,
I came back.
At night, I looked for you.
One night, I went under the blanket.
Slowly.
I climbed up.
Onto the pillow.
And I put my head next to yours.
You looked at me.
You laughed.
I liked that.
When you moved, I watched.
When you left, I waited.
If I could reach you, I did.
I didn’t want to be left behind.
Another one came later.
She didn’t know what to do.
So I showed her.
No one showed me.
But I knew.
I am not loud.
I don’t fight for space.
I wait.
You will come.
You always do.
You held me when I could not live.
So I stayed.
I found you.
And I am still here.
Growing Up with Mimi
“Mimi, Five Days Old” After her first visit to the vet. 4July 2017 Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi, Exploring Her Little World” Four weeks old, where even the edge of a cushion was an adventure. 1 August 2017, 11:59 AM. Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi in a Carton, Naughty and Curious” Her version of adventure day.Four weeks old, already getting into everything. 1 August 2017. Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi in a Box” Curious, contained, and already claiming her space. Approximately six weeks old. 15 August 2017, 10:07 PM Photograph © Cats Hope™
"Mimi’s Version of St Patrick’s Day” 1 September 2017, Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi, Growing Strong” Three months old and resting on her favourite cushion. 6 October 2017. Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi, At Ease” About nine months old. 5 April 2018. Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi, Cozy Here” Seven years and two months old. 11 August 2024 Photograph © Cats Hope™
“Mimi, Comfortable in Her Own World” Seven years and two months old. 26 August 2024. Photograph © Cats Hope™
Coming Soon….
Mimi — Still Here
I am still here.
There will be more.
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