Fish & Chips — Found in the Weeds, Now Forever in My Heart

I just stopped for a drink. But two tiny eyes peeking from the weeds stopped my whole world.

It was just a regular afternoon at a highway truck stop. Sandwich in hand, I was heading back to my car when I heard it—a faint meow. I scanned the area and spotted them: two kittens, huddled in dry grass.

One orange and white, one black and white. Small. Dirty. Starving.

All around them was trash—an empty can, torn plastic, a crusty food bowl. No mother. No shade. No warmth. Just the wind… and each other.

I crouched down. They didn’t run. They just pressed closer together and shivered.

I had never had cats before. But I knew—I couldn’t walk away.

I named them Fish and Chips. Because near them, all I found was an old tuna can and a crumpled chip bag.

It was a sad beginning.

But also… a beginning.

The first few days at home, Fish and Chips hid under the couch. Every sound scared them. But soon, Fish crept out and sniffed my fingers. Chips perched up high, watching everything with wide, curious eyes.

And then they bloomed.

Fish curled into blankets. Chips napped on my shoulders. They chased each other like they’d never known fear.

I thought I rescued them.

But truth is—they rescued me too.

I’m still learning how to care for cats. But I know one thing: Fish and Chips went from weeds and waste… to warm beds, full bowls, and a human who loves them more than words can say.