Knox is a music producer and an award winning photographer known for his gritty take on street life.
I knew she was dying. I saw her paw reaching out to me. I knew her when she was a kitten. I’ve known these alley cats for a long time. They live next to my studio. Or shall I say, my studio is next to where they live. At first, I would see them in the dumpsters, hidden in an abandoned car, an 18-wheel truck, or on the roof of the studio. They were just shadows in the night—tiny heads sticking out from boxes of garbage or rustlings of trash when they ran off as I walked my dog, Lukas. The “shadows” and “rustlings” soon became my friends and had been christened with his or her gang name: Muncher, Knuckles, Hot Rod, Razor, Donkey, Lil’ Gal. I’ve seen litters come and go and found many of them homes after having them spayed or neutered. I’ve experienced the deaths of many of my friends to the elements, city coyotes — even cruelty and the prejudice of humans. To give a proper burial, I’ve dug graves in the sleet, sick with the flu, and pulled pieces of a friend from the road or parking lot. Maybe I relate to them because I always saw myself as an underdog of sorts.
Help us help them.
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I’ve cared for my neighbors a long time, and they’ve cared for me. When the city turned dark and lonely, we shared hours together. Many nights, I would sit with my neighbors under a streetlight, soaking up the silence, the calm; a few heartbeats, sharing moments in the dark. As the sun went down, like in a film noir movie, the urban settings and emotions wrapped around us. Late at night, even the most fearful ones would come close, as if to say, “I’m frightened, yet feel you are trying to help. I’m trying to trust you.” Eventually, they knew I was their friend, and I feel they somehow realized that they, too, gave me comfort—all of us children of a Higher Power, one no better than the other. In my heart, it’s an honor to be trusted by them. I'm the only human who has ever touched most of them.
This dying mom I had named Spooner, because as a kitten she liked to play with an old spoon in the alleyway, was now stretching her weak and feeble paw to me. She’d had her first litter a few months back. I’d never had hopes that she would be a good mother, as she was always aloof and somewhat strange. I was wrong. I watched her care for and protect her little ones with love, grace, and dignity. Every evening, there she was, sitting above them, on a truck or pylon jutting up from the cement watching the dark for enemies. Beside her were Muncher and Spitter, two other mothers with litters. Early on, a coyote ate one of Spooner’s little girls, and she never was the same. I saw her fight off four city raccoons all by herself for the food I put out, so that she and her kittens could eat. I was there the night her mate, a strong handsome male named Razor, was torn apart by a city coyote as he fought hard to protect his litter. I couldn’t get to him in time to save him. The screams were deafening! She moaned for hours afterward as the two of us went searching for him. She looked under dumpsters and cars, constantly turning to see if I was behind her, and keeping watch over her kittens. Her little kittens lay huddled together, frightened at the horrific screams in the night. The sense of death felt heavy and profound.
Then something happened that had never entered my mind. Spooner, the once strong, proud mother, the lioness at heart, is now lying under a truck—wheezing…nothing but skin and bones, her face incredibly swollen, distorted out of proportion, eyes swollen shut. Her now-teenaged kittens laid close by, huddled alongside her, their necks and faces also mysteriously swollen. All of them hacking, quiet, and lethargic.
Others from the alley joined the huddle. I could see that none of my friends had escaped this strange illness.
I will have to deal with this. Many little kittens, once playful with each other and their mothers, intertwined with other kittens from other Moms will now be missed and replaced with my solitude. There are over a dozen street cats here, maybe more. They all have their street names: The Nun, Peeping Tom, Face, Queenie, Opossum, Nemesis… on and on. It will be painfully quiet by my door.
Today, the ones who survived have all been spayed or neutered. They are all fed daily and given clean water. They are now my long-standing friends. As I step out of my studio to walk Lukas, out of the bushes and from behind trucks come Nemesis, Lil’ Gal, Tiny, Muncher, and a new addition, Spooks, to greet me. Here’s Pooch, the lone survivor of a litter a skinny little mom, dropped off here before she went off to die. Frankie, Spitter, Grease Spot, Shakes, and Lucy have recently died or been killed. Turk, Hot Rod, Harvey and others have been adopted by humans.
When you look in an alley late at night, realize there is possibly a beating heart, fearful in the dark, hiding as you walk by. That they, too, may have just lost a loved one. That they, too, may be sick and frightened. That they, too, would like to try to trust and love you. Please, reach out to them and enjoy the honor I have experienced.
This project is dedicated to all who reach out to help suffering animals. Thousands of animal lovers feed, build homes for, capture-spay-neuter-release alley cats all around the world. They do it from the heart. It is not easy work; it’s highly emotional, expensive, and time consuming.
It’s an honor that animals have let us in—especially those who have suffered at the hands of humans. Yet, over time, they’ve learned to trust some of us. The alley cat problem is not a cat problem, but a human one.
I am well aware that this project is an almost homogenized version of what alley cats around the world go through daily. The dilemma is, who would support a project that shows the suffering they go through in alleys, behind restaurants, and in urban as well as rural areas? It is my hope that through this project, I can offer a view into the plight these little street warriors face every day. I hope it inspires you to become proactive, in any way you can. Spay and neutering is a beginning. It is the intent of this project to show that alley cats have emotions similar to those of humans. They get sick, they love their young ones, they play—and, sadly they, too, fall prey to the darker side of humans.
Please spay and neuter.
—Knox