#03: Cat rescue
On becoming a person of place
I had other plans for today’s piece until I spent my Saturday trying to rescue a cat stuck in a tree. This was as hilarious and heartwarming as it sounds, which is why I’m writing about it.
The drama began when my partner and I were woken at 7 a.m. by loud, persistent meows. As parents to two punctual rescue cats, we’re trained to treat that kind of noise as a breakfast request. But the tone was different this time—sharper, more urgent, and coming from outside our window.
The cries belonged to a small, dark-haired tortoiseshell perched three metres up the largest tree in our communal garden. These shared spaces tucked between apartment blocks are typical of the area. Dangling over a large, lower branch was a harness and leash. This little one had broken free.
A cat-stuck-in-tree moment is one of those stock tragicomedies you hear about but almost never witness firsthand. So when it does happen, the few people present are often well-intentioned but amusingly ill-equipped. We were two such people.
The same could not be said for our community. Within five minutes of posting in a local Facebook group, a woman two streets down replied saying she’d be over with her extra-large ladder. Friends had gifted it to her after her own cat got stuck in trees so often they decided she ought to be self-sufficient.
Meanwhile, a woman in a neighbouring town offered to send her arborist husband to the scene as others chimed in with expert contacts. We were told to call ‘Ninjatay’—a professional rope climber and volunteer cat rescuer—and to post in a group called Vi som hjälper katter i träd (We Who Help Cats in Trees). Both operated in the wider Stockholm area.
When the XL ladder failed to yield results, we called in the experts. No answer from Ninjatay but a young, sleepy-sounding Arnold from Vi some hjälper picked up and said he’d come as soon as he could, despite living 1.5 hours away by train. He’d bring his microchip reader. Ninjatay called back a while later and was pleased to hear Arnold was on his way. The two were friends, of course.
We never got to meet Arnold in the end. Shortly before he was due to board his train, the owner appeared and climbed the XL ladder to her cat’s rescue. She lived in the opposite apartment building and came down in hope as soon as she noticed our small group gathered beneath the tree.
You see what I mean about hilarious and heartwarming. And I skipped plenty of other charming details. Like neighbours leaning out of windows to brainstorm tactics in between cooking crepes for their kids, or the young woman pausing her 10-week old puppy’s walk to climb the ladder and try to coax the cat down. My partner and I spoke to more locals in those four frantic hours than we had in the past four years. Our little Wes Anderson-esque tale revealed a side of Stockholm that we didn’t know existed—one that’s unguarded, communal, and quietly full of heart.
And you know what, I’m here for it. No one in this story was too cool or too busy to try to help. No one paused to assess whether this was the most effective use of their time. (I genuinely wonder what William MacAskill and other effective altruists would have done in this situation.) Everyone just sprang into action.
It might sound trite to say we need to hear more stories like this. But given how few of them seem to make their way to me these days, I’m saying it anyway.
We need to give ourselves permission to participate in and share these stories. To become, as
has so beautifully put it, “people of place.”Most of us are not people of place, we are people of a market. Many move away from our hometowns, we follow opportunity to college or for a job to maximize our economic/career opportunities. Most people do not use their place-based identity as the prism they bend all decisions through, and most people do not integrate into the places they inhabit.
Becoming a person of place means drawing closer to things we’ve been estranged from so we can begin a process of reconnection.
I’ve never integrated into the places I’ve inhabited as an adult. But last Saturday gave me a taste of what it might feel like to do so and I found myself wanting more. On Sunday afternoon, I went back down to the garden and lay under the tree. The sun was warm. I felt more grounded than I had in weeks. I let the feeling expand, then opened my laptop and started to write.
Thanks so much for reading,
Lauren