I see no terrorism in the eyes of hungry kittens—nor in the eyes of starving children. I see terrorism only in the hands of an occupier.
While I was lighting the fire and battling its thick black smoke, I heard my little sister call out, “There’s a cat that gave birth to kittens here!” I went to have a look and found the neighborhood cat had given birth to a litter inside a shoebox placed on our doorstep.
My first instinct was to remove them before the mother returned, fearing she might attack us, thinking we were trying to hurt her babies.
But my little sister yelled in protest, appalled by my heartlessness: “They could die or get hurt!” I felt the coldness of my own heart for a moment, then told her to do what she thought was right and returned to the fire.
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My priority was making sure the lentil soup did not burn, especially since we barely had enough to keep us alive, not enough to satisfy our hunger.
There was no bread, one of the essential additions to this dish. Flour has exceeded $700 a sack in a city where most people live below the poverty line – out of work for months, unable to afford even a handful of flour!
About an hour later, I finished preparing the soup, with no onions or peppers to accompany it, as they are either unavailable in the markets or sold at astronomical prices far beyond our reach.
A ‘Feast’
I went to check what Aya had done with the kittens. To my surprise, she had prepared a “feast” by Gaza famine standards: she poured them some milk, gathered the leftover canned tuna and meat from the kitchen, and served it to them.
I froze. My tongue failed to scold her or even ask if she knew that this was food for an entire day.
I looked into her eyes, a mix of anger and disbelief in my own gaze—but all I saw in hers was determination and complete conviction in what she had done.
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Aya couldn’t bear the sight of hungry kittens, even though I’d told her, and she knew that their mother would feed them one way or another. I don’t blame her, though. In fact, maybe I should blame the cat for having such poor instincts! Still, things have changed since the war began.
Back then, cats could find food along the roadside—leftovers and trash bags.
Now, they have competition: Gaza’s children search the same trash for tattered clothes, bits of wood or plastic to burn for warmth since they can’t afford firewood. Or even just to see if there’s any scrap of food left behind by international aid agencies.
The Comparison
Many thoughts crossed my mind.
I didn’t care that we were eating so little, but I was outraged that children in my city were scavenging trash for food while cats were being fed proper meals.
Then again, the comparison wasn’t fair. Why shouldn’t both children and cats eat good food?
Even when we were kids, we used to feed pregnant cats and then their kittens so the mothers could recover. My thoughts shifted from despair and bitterness to angry questions: What kind of inhuman occupation can witness hunger in a living being and still deny it food? How vile must one be to starve children, the sick, the poor?
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Who gave them the right to seal off an entire city—one barely visible on the map—before the eyes of the world? Who allowed them to control the lives, the hunger, of my city’s children, and even its cats?
All this raced through my head as I stared into Aya’s eyes.
Aya did nothing wrong. We are from Gaza, a city known for its generosity—that’s what people have always said about us.
It’s how we were raised. So would I kill that spirit in her now? Would I snuff out what’s left of our humanity?
I could only speak when I found the right words. I praised Aya for what she had done and even gave her a bigger portion of the soup at the expense of my own. Courage and generosity must be honored, and selfishness must be humbled.
No Chance of Survival
The days passed, and sadly, all the kittens died. Two of them went missing—most likely eaten by their mother. The remaining three were abandoned by her and left to die, despite our desperate attempts to feed them. But without their mother’s milk, they had no chance.
Since then, whenever I think of those kittens, I feel a deep resentment toward this world for what it has allowed to happen.
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Since when have starving people, animals, trees—even kittens—become justified under the excuse of “combating terrorism”?
Or was it the cat’s fault? I see no terrorism in the eyes of hungry kittens—nor in the eyes of starving children. I see terrorism only in the hands of an occupier who besieged a city once best known for what it now lacks the most: generosity.
(The Palestine Chronicle)
– Hassan Abu Qamar is a Palestinian writer, programmer, and entrepreneur from Gaza, focusing on documenting the humanitarian situation in the Strip. He contributed this article to the Palestine Chronicle.
(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by PostX News and is published from a syndicated feed.)
