“No Home to Call My Own” — Buddy in Tiong Bahru Park. Photograph © CatsHope™
Buddy’s Story — Homeless in a Park
Buddy Speaks:
Everyone had somewhere to go when they finished with the park.
The children went home. The people packed their picnic things. The exercise groups collected their bags. Even the dogs left with someone holding their leads.
I stayed.
Tiong Bahru Park was where I lived. I knew its paths, its bushes, its benches and the places where a cat could disappear from view. I knew the tilted train in the playground, the school next door and the sounds that carried across from the roads.
Knowing a place helps you survive there. It does not give you a door to close.
“Tiffany, I Am Here” Photograph © Catshope™
A Beautiful, Difficult Place
There were trees to rest beneath, flowers beside the paths and junglefowl going about their business. In the quieter hours, I could sit and watch.
But the quiet never belonged to me for long.
Children ran through the playground. Feet pounded the train’s steps. Balls crossed the grass. Bicycles passed, dogs barked and music travelled from the gatherings. Beyond the trees, traffic and construction added their own noise.
I learned to look before moving.
A friendly voice might bring me out. A dog pulling towards me sent me back into cover. Sometimes a hand offered affection. Sometimes someone wanted me gone.
The park had its trolls, too: people whose approach made a small animal search for an escape. I did not need to understand their reasons. I needed enough distance.
So I kept track of the dark corners, the gaps beneath things and the bushes that could hide me.
“A Rainy Night and Nowhere to Call Home” Photograph © Catshope™
“The Sun Can Be Relentless” Photograph © Catshope™
Under the Same Sky
On hot days, I followed the shade.
A comfortable patch could become too warm as the sun moved. I would get up and find another place, settling where the ground was cooler and I could still watch what approached.
Then came the rain.
It filled the drains, soaked the grass and reached into the bushes. The places that concealed me were not always the places that kept me dry.
I sheltered beneath benches, in the pagodas and around the park’s buildings and structures. Sometimes there was cover overhead but dampness underneath. Sometimes getting to shelter meant crossing open ground.
People could hurry indoors. I had to choose from what was there.
A wet night was long when there was nowhere properly dry to curl up.
“Behind the Trees”When dogs chased me behind the trees, Tiffany found me and fed me. Photograph © CatsHope™
Under the Same Sky
Food made me leave places where I felt safer.
I checked where the feeders usually came. I watched for familiar people and listened for the sounds that meant a meal might be near.
When food did not arrive, I searched elsewhere.
There were scraps beneath benches, things dropped after picnics and bins worth investigating. I looked through the grass and under the bushes, alert to movement and anything that might be edible.
Searching did not always mean finding enough.
Hunger also meant waiting: watching a path, getting up to investigate, returning to a spot where someone had fed me before. Rain could keep people away. The park could be full of visitors and still leave me without a meal.
“The School Next Door” Photograph © CatsHope™
The School Next Door
The school next door was another part of my world. Other people fed me there, too. I wandered over, a small striped visitor with my own rounds to make. There were people to watch and unfamiliar corners to explore. For a little while, I shared their day. Then I returned to the park to look for my people.
The Ones Who Disappeared
I had not always been alone. Other cats had shared this place. We knew the same paths and feeding spots. A familiar cat nearby made the park feel different.
Feimao was my friend. Then she became ill. She was taken away for care, and she did not return. My people later told her story: she had cancer and went to the rainbow bridge. My black companion disappeared, too. I never knew where.
Other cats were adopted, moved away, died or vanished. There was not always an answer. There was simply a place where someone used to be. I kept walking through those places.
The playground was still busy. The trees still gave shade. People still crossed the park. But the companions who had shared it with me were gone. There can be so much movement around you, and still no one beside you.
“Waiting for My People” Photograph © CatsHope™
The People I Waited For
Some people remembered me.
Kind ladies and some old men brought food, filled my water and sometimes stayed for a while. Some came regularly; others fed me when they happened to pass through. Even the regulars could only come when they were able. A familiar feeding time did not always mean a meal.
Still, I knew them. I learned their voices, their routes and the times they usually appeared. I waited along those paths. I was glad when they came.
I knew when Tiffany usually arrived for Bagua and which path she took. I would wait for her. When she was ready for me, she clicked her jade beads.
Sometimes I could not see her, so I searched among the bags for her scent. Other times, I sat on the grass beside the benches where the group had placed their things, waiting nearby. When I heard her beads and her call, I came running.
Sometimes I walked alongside her in the practice. When the group rested in the pagoda, I settled near them. For a while, I could close my eyes and sleep. There were people beside me who knew I was there and watched out for me.
One evening, after rain had fallen all day, Tiffany came looking. I heard her and came out from the shadows. We went to the pagoda, where she gave me food and stayed while I ate.
There was shelter. There was company. Someone had come. But eventually our visits ended. The food was finished. Bags were gathered. My people had to leave.
I stayed in the park, knowing their paths a little better, listening for the sounds that might bring them back.
Caregiver’s Note — Tiffany Argent
Buddy lived in Tiong Bahru Park for approximately five years. Over time, he lost the cats who had shared his life there. Some found homes, some died and others disappeared. Feeders and visitors brought him food and companionship, but he still faced the weather and dangers of life outdoors.
This story brings together what we observed and learned about Buddy’s years in the park. His imagined voice gives expression to experiences he could never explain to us himself.
His journey out of the park, through foster care and illness, and into our family continues in Home at Last.
Article and Photographs by Tiffany Argent,
CatsHope™ Ambassador.
Story and Images © CatsHope™
