Couple Rescues Feverish Street Kitten In Laos And Refuses To Leave Him Behind

It was a warm Saturday night in April 2013.

My boyfriend and I were walking to a bar in Luang Prabang, Laos.

The street was busy and loud.

Then we saw something tiny by the sidewalk.

A little kitten sat there alone.

He looked like he was waiting for someone who would never come.

His body was so small.

His eyes were swollen and sticky.

His nose was wet and clogged.

When we picked him up, he felt too hot.

He was burning with fever.

He tried to breathe, but each breath was a struggle.

It was heartbreaking to feel his weak chest move.

He didn’t fight us at all.

He just melted into our hands like a sweet soul.

In that moment, I knew one thing.

We could not walk away.

My heart felt shattered for him.

We stopped a tuk-tuk driver right there.

He looked at the kitten and nodded fast.

He drove us through the dark streets.

The kitten stayed pressed against my palm.

I kept whispering, “You’re okay, baby.”

The driver took us to a vet he knew.

It wasn’t a big clinic.

It was a simple place.

The vet cared for cows on a farm.

But he had kind eyes.

He held the kitten gently and checked him.

He didn’t laugh at us.

He didn’t brush us off.

He just said the kitten was very sick.

And he needed help now.

For five long days, we came back again and again.

The vet gave the kitten antibiotic shots.

I hated seeing the needle.

But I loved seeing the kitten survive.

We brought him food and water.

We cleaned his face with soft cloth.

We wiped the mucus from his eyes.

Sometimes he would blink at me slowly.

It felt like he was saying thank you.

Each day, his breathing got a little easier.

Each day, he stayed alive one more day.

That small victory felt like a miracle.

We gave him a name.

We called him Floquilda.

It sounded cute and silly.

It made us smile in the middle of fear.

Then days passed, and he grew stronger.

He began to play with our fingers.

He began to purr like a tiny motor.

He began to eat like he had hope again.

We watched him like worried parents.

We counted his breaths at night.

We checked his eyes each morning.

And when the swelling finally went down, I cried.

I cried because he looked peaceful.

I cried because he looked like a kitten again.

Later, Floquilda became Floquildo.

He grew into a little boy kitten.

And yes, he grew “little balls,” too.

We laughed, but we also felt proud.

Our sick street baby was changing.

He was healing right in front of us.

He didn’t just survive, he started to bloom.

Then the hard part arrived.

We were backpacking through Asia for months.

We were not living in one place.

We were always moving.

And now it was time to leave Luang Prabang.

The idea of leaving him behind felt cruel.

My stomach turned when I thought of it.

What would happen to him without us?

Would he get sick again?

Would anyone notice his pain?

He had already been abandoned once.

We could not let it happen again.

So we made a wild decision.

We would take him with us.

We didn’t have a carrier.

We didn’t have a plan.

We had only love and fear.

We put him in a paper box.

A simple paper box with air holes.

And we traveled through Laos with a cat.

Then we traveled into Vietnam with a cat.

I still can’t believe it now.

Floquildo rode in buses and cars.

He rode in tuk-tuks and vans.

Sometimes people stared at us.

Sometimes people smiled at us.

Many times, I just held the box close.

I was scared of losing him.

I was scared someone would say no.

I was scared the next border would stop us.

At night, we opened the box carefully.

He would stretch and climb into our laps.

He trusted us with his whole life.

That trust felt heavy and holy.

But the truth was clear.

This could not go on forever.

We were trying our best.

But it wasn’t safe for him.

A kitten needed comfort.

A kitten needed routine.

A kitten needed safe arms that stayed put.

One day we sat down and faced reality.

We needed help.

We needed a real way to bring him home.

We were from Brazil.

So we reached out to a Brazilian NGO.

They listened to our story.

They understood our love.

They offered support and ideas.

And that’s when the next chapter began.

We started a crowdfunding campaign.

It felt strange to ask for money.

But we weren’t asking for a trip.

We were asking for a life.

Floquildo needed travel documents.

He needed vaccines.

He needed papers and approval.

He needed transportation done the right way.

All those things cost more than we had.

So we told his story.

We shared his photos.

We shared his progress.

We shared the truth.

He had been much worse than the pictures showed.

He had been close to dying.

And now he was close to coming home.

People started to help.

Strangers donated.

Strangers left kind messages.

Strangers cared about one small kitten.

It made me believe in goodness again.

Love reached us from people we never met.

Then June 2013 arrived.

That date is burned into my heart.

I landed in Brazil with him.

I held him close the whole way.

When the plane touched down, I exhaled.

It felt like the world finally let us breathe.

Floquildo had made it.

He was no longer a street kitten.

He was no longer a sick, lonely baby.

He was family.

When we brought him home, he looked around carefully.

New smells.

New air.

New sounds.

But he didn’t hide.

He didn’t run away.

He walked slowly like he belonged there.

And waiting for him were two furry friends.

Their names were Juca and Dinga.

They were part of our home already.

I worried they wouldn’t accept him.

I worried they would growl.

I worried Floquildo would feel scared again.

But something beautiful happened.

They sniffed him gently.

They watched him like curious siblings.

And soon, they began to share space.

Soon, they began to share naps.

Soon, they began to share love.

Floquildo finally had a pack.

He finally had warmth.

He finally had safety.

He became playful.

He became confident.

He became silly.

He would run through the room like a little storm.

He would roll onto his back for belly rubs.

He would curl into a ball beside us at night.

Every time he slept peacefully, my heart softened.

Because I remembered the sidewalk in Laos.

I remembered the fever.

I remembered the swollen eyes.

I remembered the fear of losing him.

And I looked at him in our home.

Clean.

Safe.

Loved.

Alive.

It felt like a dream we didn’t deserve.

But we did fight for it.

And he did fight for it too.

In almost one year traveling in Asia, we saw many things.

We saw beautiful places.

We met many people.

But Floquildo was the best thing that happened to us.

Not because he was cute.

Not because he was special like a celebrity.

But because he changed our hearts.

He taught us how deep love can go.

He taught us that saving one life matters.

He taught us that compassion is never a mistake.

Now he has a fanpage full of photos.

His story continues with every sunny nap.

And every gentle purr.

Sometimes I still look at him and whisper.

“You made it, sweet soul.”

And he blinks at me slowly, calm and safe.

Because he knows the truth now.

He is home.