Saturday in June in 2006, my boyfriend’s cat Teevee was wandering around in the backyard of his house in New Jersey when she made an unexpected discovery—three little wild kittens were living in the next-door neighbor’s yard.

I went outside to check them out and that’s when I saw Number Three. He was bold, curious, and cute. I’d seen a lot of wild cats in the past, so what struck me about this little guy was that he didn’t run off at the sight of me. He just settled down and studied me, trying to figure out what I was. I was transfixed. He was, of course, adorable. I mean, he was a kitten, for goodness sakes.  But having him sit there looking at me gave me time to think that maybe wild kittens shouldn’t stay outside. When his brother burst through the grass and the two ran off running, I turned to go back into the house.

But I couldn’t get him out of my mind. So, over breakfast, I convinced Matt we should figure out what we could do for them.

That arbitrary decision changed my life.  It tapped into my urge to help, get involved, act. As a journalist, that was a natural urge. But this was more. Because rescuing those three kittens and finding them homes got me involved with the community on Matt’s street and the rescue community in the area.  I started creating real roots and a feeling of belonging—something I hadn’t had for a big part of my life growing up as a military brat who moved every two years.  

More fundamentally, though, rescuing cats forced me to connect: to a place, to another person, and to myself. The unexpected links I forged through caring about those first three kittens helped propel me towards the most common and daunting project we all face: figuring out what I wanted from life. It’s an endeavor we all share, one that I, like so many other people, worked hard to avoid, taking advantages of distractions like work, alcohol, or just a whole lot of TV.

A writing teacher once told my class that if anyone asks you what your book is about, answer, “Oh, about 10 pages.” Which is right. I struggle when people ask what my memoir is about. Sometimes, I answer,  “About 250 pages.”  Because there’s a lot wrapped up in here. But right this moment, I’ll say it’s about connections. And it all started with the one I made that morning in 2006 with Number Three.