I discovered Perseus was missing when I came home at 11PM on a Tuesday in September.

I returned from a long day of meetings and walked into an uncharacteristically quiet house. Perseus is a vocal cat, she usually greets me as I enter the door. We have a pocket garden behind the apartment, and I assumed she was out there hunting or watching the other community animals across the fence. I quickly ran up the stairs to feed Ash, our rabbit, and came back down calling out to Perseus. No response.

In the nights prior, she had been coming in from the far side of the pocket garden, so I thought maybe she was just taking a while to respond. But after a few minutes of silence, I stepped out into the garden with a flashlight and noticed the hole in the fence. My heart dropped. It was the same hole she had come through as a starving kitten at the beginning of the year.

~

Gilbert found Perseus in January. She was skinny, scabby, yowling, and chewing on a dried leaf. She got spooked by our compound dog and darted into the shrubbery. Gilbert followed in and left her some food, wished her luck, and returned to our apartment some 100 meters away. Five hours later, Perseus was meowing at our backdoor, a maze away from where Gilbert had left her. She had followed the sound of his voice, traversed the compound, avoided the dog, and somehow found this tiny hole in the fence of our garden. Gilbert had been in one of the darkest episodes of his mental health, and this was the point when Perseus rescued him.He converted our garden into her lair, building courses and teaching her to balance, climb and jump. Gilbert said she was going to remain an outdoor cat, maybe eventually venture out on her own. He was merely nursing her back to health and providing her with the tools to survive. But as it often goes with cats, she eventually came indoors and stayed there just as rainy season arrived.

Gilbert passed away from a brain hemorrhage last August.~

Had she gone looking for him? We had covered the hole up with broken tiles and acrylic board, but these must have fallen at some point during the heavy rains of the previous week.

My thoughts raced as I ran out into the bigger garden calling her name and frantically flashing the light in all directions. I searched all night, going back out every half hour calling her name and peering up trees and into crevices throughout the garden. Once it was bright enough, I went to the neighboring apartment building to ask if I could look for her. The crazy lady in her pajamas with her disheveled hair was not allowed in. No surprise there.

Throughout the day, I would go out and call her name, with her toy, with a bowl of food. Everyone assured me she would be back. Cats do this, they disappear, they go on adventures, they come back. I made Lost Cat posters, I walked around the neighborhood calling Perseus’ name, shaking her food in a cup.

I met some strays, fed them some, and told them to tell Perseus to go home. I asked the barangay officials, sari-sari store vendors, and the tambays to look out for her. I left my number. I offered a reward. One neighbor said that he recognized her. He offered me another cat that was often in our area. I laughed and said I was only looking for Perseus. He said he’d add the other friendly cat in if and when he finds Perseus. This made me hopeful; someone was actually looking out for her.

Darkness came again and, at 10pm, I decided I would finally try and get some sleep. I got up at 3am, the quietest time in our neighborhood, walked through the compound with my flashlight and called her name. Finally, an answer. Perseus’ familiar yowling near the neighbor’s fence. I ran to get my phone, took a video of the meowing coming from the neighbor’s wall. She was there.Now, I had been looking through the trees over the past two nights, but I didn’t think to look at this one coconut tree which was taller than the 3-story apartment building across the fence. Because why should I be looking that high into a tree, for crying out loud? All the way up in the crown of the tree, I saw 2 shining eyes of a meowing Perseus. The photo would serve as proof for the neighbors, so they would let me in to come get her.

I wanted to yell at Perseus, “Hoy! We didn’t name you Icarus! Why did you have to go up so high?!” But stopped myself at the risk of reinforcing the crazy cat lady trope.

I stood at the foot of the tree, telling her that we needed to sleep, reminding her to stay put, and doing what must have been my best at reassuring her that we were coming to get her as soon as it was light out.

She was there in the morning, despite gusty winds and some rain. She listened.

As there was a break in the clouds, we sprang into action. We live in a compound with a house that’s in constant need of repair, so we have a scaffolding set. Perseus started meowing as soon as she saw the commotion. She must have known that help was coming. Once the safety line was secured, 3 tiers of scaffolding and a ladder were set up to get within eye level of her (shout out to Manong Edgar and Jason, you are geniuses). The whole operation attracted the attention of our neighbors, including the Siamese cat who had been rescued in our compound the day before. He sat on the fence watching a rescue much more dramatic than his own.We all held our breath as Jason reached out for Perseus. Once secured, my eyes didn’t leave her as she made her descent: first, down the extended ladder, then down the highest tier of scaffolding. From here Perseus was gently placed in her carrier and lowered into my waiting arms. I let out an audible sigh of exasperated relief the second I felt her cage in my fingers.

And that, my friends, is the story of how we rescued Perseus, Crooked Tail from the top of a 30-foot coconut tree.