The rooms walls and gardens street cats continue to use during redevelopment

By Julie Choi / YongsanCats / Seoul

Julie Choi is the independent cat rescuer behind YongsanCats in Seoul, South Korea. In redevelopment areas of Yongsan, she helps cats whose shelter and care are disrupted as residents move away and buildings are cleared. She works with local caregivers, veterinarians and foster homes to arrange rescue, treatment and somewhere safe to recover. Julie does this because a building can be emptied of people while animals are still living inside it.

The problem is not always visible from the street. A cat may still depend on a room that is about to be sealed, or on a garden that will soon be cleared. Waiting until the building comes down can mean losing the chance to reach that animal. The photographs accompanying this article come from different places and moments in the rescue work of Julie. They show some of the spaces animals continue to use, alongside the care that can help them reach safety.

The Room After Moving Day

In one photograph, the first thing I notice is the furniture. A large wooden cabinet fills much of the foreground. Just beyond it, a black cat sits beside a bowl, with loose objects scattered across the floor. People have left the space, but the cat is still using it.

In rescue work, I have learned to be careful with the word empty. A room no longer occupied by people can still block wind. A cabinet can create a protected corner. An opening can let a small animal pass between the room and the outside. None of those uses requires the room to look like a home to us.

I cannot know exactly how the cat experiences it. What I can see is where the animal sits and how much of its body the furniture conceals. Those details matter when I am trying to understand whether I can approach safely, or whether an animal has somewhere to retreat.

By the time I see these spaces, their use as human homes may already have ended. That does not tell me whether they are unoccupied.

What a Room Keeps

After residents leave, familiar domestic objects take on different functions. A low shelf can become a cover. A doorway no one plans to use again can remain an entrance for a cat. An object awaiting removal may be part of the animal’s daily surroundings.

The room with the black cat is not safe simply because it offers shelter. Redevelopment sites change quickly. Doors can be sealed, furniture removed and walls taken down. An animal resting out of sight may not be noticed before work begins. The same objects that provide cover can also make humane capture more difficult by creating places to retreat.

This is one of the difficulties of rescue: an unsafe place can still be familiar. Bringing in a trap or carrier changes that place again. I cannot explain to the cat why I am there, and I cannot expect the animal to recognise my intentions.

It is tempting to describe rescue only from the human side, with the moment of capture as a clear resolution. From the animal’s side, almost everything has changed at once. A familiar room is gone; transport, handling and a new enclosure have taken its place. Helping means taking that disruption seriously, even when moving the cat is necessary.

A Wall at the Cat’s Scale

In another photograph, a black-and-white cat rests inside a narrow opening in damaged masonry. Blue material lines part of the recess. The rough edges look inhospitable, yet the opening accommodates the cat’s body and provides cover around it.

The photograph makes me look more carefully at what shelter consists of. Sometimes it is a purpose-built enclosure. Sometimes it is a gap that an animal has found, with whatever protection the surrounding materials provide. The presence of a cat does not make a damaged wall stable. But calling the place rubble tells only part of the story while an animal is still resting there.

I would not choose a broken wall as a resting place for a cat. Yet removing it before reaching the animal would also remove its cover. Looking at the photograph, I want to know how the cat gets in and out, and whether I can reach it without closing off its route. There is a living animal in a space that could easily be overlooked.

Before attempting a capture, I need to understand the opening and the surrounding access. An approach that sends a frightened cat farther into a structure may make the situation worse. The cat’s need for cover has to be considered alongside the danger of leaving it there.

The Garden Keeps Its Own Time

A third photograph shows a black-and-white cat lying on a path among dense green plants. The cat is plainly visible, looking towards the camera. Beyond it, vegetation continues along the narrow space between buildings.

The garden has continued after the household. Plants do not stop growing because a room is vacant, and an animal does not need a tended garden to use its shade. A path that looks overgrown to a person may still be passable at a cat’s height.

Clearing such a space changes more than its appearance. Removing vegetation can expose a resting place or an approach that was previously screened from view. Closing an entrance can separate two small areas that the animal has been using together. A change that looks minor in a photograph of the whole building can be substantial close to the ground.

I try not to mistake a single photograph for a complete account of a place. It records one moment. The important question when I return is what is still accessible now, and whether the animal can still be reached without putting it or anyone helping at further risk.

The Decision to Intervene

When danger becomes immediate, leaving a cat in familiar surroundings is not always the kinder choice. Demolition, sealed access, disappearing food and unstable structures can make staying impossible. The animal may need veterinary care and a foster home rather than another temporary hiding place within the same site.

Moving a cat begins another set of responsibilities. There must be a secure place to recover and someone able to provide the care the animal needs. A cat that hides after arrival needs patient observation, not an assumption that fear describes its whole personality.

This is where the work with veterinarians and foster caregivers becomes essential. Treatment must be followed by a suitable place to rest. Food and water need to be within reach. Appetite and movement need attention. Doors and windows need to be secure. The quieter parts of care continue after the urgency of capture has passed.

The accompanying photograph of me beside a cat indoors shows a different kind of space from the abandoned room. The cat is resting on a purpose-built wooden cat towel as I reach over to stroke it. This is one of the quieter moments I value: ordinary contact, without the next stage of demolition determining how much time is left. It is a different cat, in different circumstances, but the contrast between the two spaces is part of why I continue this work.

For a frightened cat, a safer room can still be unfamiliar. Some settle quickly; others need much longer. The aim is to give them time and appropriate care, and to find a lasting home suited to the individual animal. That is how intervention becomes more than removal from a dangerous place.

After the Last Door Closes

Seen from across the neighbourhood, redevelopment changes the skyline. Close to the ground, it changes the usefulness of ordinary things: a doorway, a stretch of shade, the space beside a cabinet. These are not necessarily places we would choose for an animal. They may nevertheless be places an animal is using before there is a better option.

The photographs do not argue that damaged buildings should remain untouched. They ask for a closer look before a space is treated as empty. Is an animal still entering? Is there time to reach it safely? If it cannot remain, where can it recover afterwards?

I keep returning to the black cat beside the furniture. Nothing in the photograph announces a rescue in progress. The cat is simply there. That is why the image matters to me. It records an inhabitant who could disappear from view long before the building disappears from the street.

When the last human door closes, I want us to check who remains on the other side.

Author Bio

Julie Choi runs YongsanCats, an independent street-cat rescue effort in Seoul. She works with local caregivers, veterinarians, foster homes and adopters to help cats affected by redevelopment move from danger towards treatment, recovery and a safe long-term home.

Cover photo: Some of Yongsancats Volunteers