Sylvia with two cats spoke so softly that I could barely hear her. But my hearing wasn’t the problem. She couldn’t speak any louder. Because she was afraid. Afraid that someone else would hear her and she was too proud to let anyone else know she was making this call.

As it turns out Sylvia was using the lobby phone of a non-descript public housing building in Portland, Oregon. One of thousands of such buildings sprinkled across the country. Every community has them. Buildings that you might not even want to know exist. Not because you don‘t see them. But because you do. 

You see them but don’t want to look at them too long for fear that you might make eye contact with someone standing outside the door. People that have endured the harshness of the years. Many rough winters.  People that could be your own parents or grandparents.

People that in many cases have been made to feel that they have outlived their useful lives. Even though they have many years left to live.  Challenged by maladies both real and imagined. But spend a few moments with them and you become the spark that ignites a conversation. Their words flow quickly, passionately. Yes, they are older. Yes, they have illness. Yes, they live in a place that you hope you never will.

But despite it all these people are still filled with sass and class. And although they might not have the chance to do many of the things we take for granted, they still have their pride. And they still have plenty of love to give.

Sylvia loves her two cats. Cats that are her sisters, she said. Cats that are her children, she said. Cats that are her family, she said. And here she was, speaking on a public phone with a group of others hovering nearby also waiting to use that same phone. But she relished her privacy. And she knew that speaking louder could mean that others might overhear that her hard times had suddenly become even harder times. And that they would find out she had run out of cat food and that she had no money left to buy any more.

So she quietly called The Pongo Fund. A plan was hatched for our Emergency Kibble Response Team to deliver some food for Sylvia’s family. Sylvia said the delivery should be left with the lobby manager. All Sylvia asked was for the food to be placed in a brown paper grocery bag with her name written on the top. And to not have anyone mention that these items were being delivered for free. Because she was too proud for charity.

We made the delivery as agreed. Out of respect to Sylvia, the Emergency Kibble Response Team courier did not even wear a Pongo shirt. When we left the bags with the building manager, she thanked us for helping Sylvia. We said nothing because we were honoring Sylvia’s wishes to not draw attention to this delivery.

But the building manager smiled a knowing smile. And we knew she knew. Because she knew all of the people that lived in her building. And then she said something that made us freeze in our tracks. She said Sylvia was just one of many Sylvia’s living in her building. And at that moment we knew we needed to help more than just one Sylvia. We needed to help them all.

A few days later The Pongo Fund opened a pet food bank annex in that very building. Now all of the Sylvia’s can receive the cat and dog food they need when they need it. Without fear of embarrassment.

Here’s to you, Sylvia, for being brave enough to make the call that has made life better for you and all of the Sylvia’s. And this is why we Pongo!

Peace. Love. Kibble. thepongofund.org