A homeless man, who looked about sixty, carefully packed his fishing gear into a worn but sturdy backpack. This backpack had seen a lot—rain, snow, heat. Inside were bait cans, hooks, bobbers, and worms in an old matchbox. For him, fishing wasn’t a hobby, but a survival strategy.
He wore an old, worn coat and rubber boots he’d found in a dumpster a few years ago—one pair was a little too small, but he’d gotten used to them. The backpack weighed heavily on his back, but he straightened up and made his way to the river, like he did every day. He had no home, no family, and no job. Sometimes someone gave him hot tea or a piece of bread, but mostly he lived off fish from the river.
After an hour of fishing, instead of a fish, he hooked a cardboard box.
“More garbage,” he sighed.
The cardboard box was heavy. He noticed there was something inside and was about to throw it away when he heard a strange rustling sound.
He pulled it toward him. Carefully, he tore open the damp cardboard, and his heart stopped for a moment. Inside was…
Inside it, shivering and covering its ears, lay a small red-haired cat. Thin, soaked, and frightened. It looked at him with fearful eyes and meowed softly.
The old man said nothing. He took off his coat, covered the cat, and sat down on the riverbank. He wasn’t sentimental, but something about this little creature touched his soul.
He named it Spark.
From that day on, everything changed. He shared his fish with it, covering it with his jacket at night. Although it lived on the streets, the cat quickly grew stronger and followed him around like a little friend. And one day, it literally saved his life.
On that exceptionally cold winter day, the old man lost consciousness on a park bench—weak, cold, and hungry. Iskra stayed. She jumped on his chest, rubbed himself, and meowed softly.
A woman passing by noticed this and called for help. The man was resuscitated and taken to an animal shelter, where he was given food and a bed. He was able to stay with the cat.
A few weeks later, thanks to the help of a volunteer, he found a job as a caregiver. The salary was modest but sufficient. Iskra lived with him in a small room next to the administrative office. He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed.
He no longer fished. He had a job, a roof over his head—and, most importantly, someone to take care of.
