Cat's Got my Heart

It was a shitty day. The weather sucked. It was cold and rainy and gray gray gray. Roman's modeling gig was stressful as neither he nor his three year old female coworker desired to model the pajamas (not underwear as previously told me) they were being paid to model. I tell ya, if you've done portraits with your kids before, you know how much it sucks. Now, times that by about 8 wardrobe changes, make up and hair curling (yes, they curled my boy's hair, too), plus photographers who consider themselves artists and what you've got is a gastly headache accompanied by gastrointestinal upset.

There's got to be an easier way for my kids to make money.

So, as Roman and I are trudging through the parking garage of our apartment, chilled, damp, road weary and completely spent, I spied a clump of something laying off to the side, near a parked car. It looked like a small animal. A small, not moving animal. I prayed, nay, I begged that it just be a lost scarf or an adrift sock. I was tired. I didn't want to deal with a hurt or sick animal. Not now. Tomorrow maybe. But today, just let it be something else.

It wasn't. It was a kitten. I could make out the distinct silhouette of a kitten long before we got close enough to see if it was alive or dead. It most certainly looked dead. Again, I begged it be dead. I was tired. And cold. And selfish. I just wanted to go in and have a cup of coffee, share a schnuggle with my husband and change glamour boy's dirty diaper before heading out to pick up Reilly Kate from preschool. Is that really so much to ask?

Of course, once we were upon it, I could tell it was very much alive. Breathing. And very, very hurt. It was bleeding from the neck and the mouth. It didn't move except to breathe. Nothing. No flicker of the eyes. No flinching when touched. Nothing. It definitely needed help, if nothing else to pass away and end the suffering. I had to do something.

Let me just tell you now, I am NOT a cat person. No, not at all. I dislike cats. No, that isn't true. I don't dislike them. I am afraid of them. No, that isn't true either. I'm not merely afraid of them. I am terrified of them. They are like wild beasts, set to pounce on you at any moment. Give me a pitbull over a cat any day of the week. I've never been bitten by a pitbull. But cats? Ugh. They're gastly creatures, really.

When Mike and I first met, his parents had a cat named Ludwig. Ludibeast, as I would refer to him, was just this side of a mountain lion, no kidding. His dad called him "bochka" which means "little barrel" in Ukrainian. That cat was so mean, he once tore up Mike's sister's legs as she sat on the toilet, defenseless. I was so damn scared of this cat that I would keep pieces of pizza in my pockets to throw to him when I visited. I think the angels of hell rejoiced at his coming when he finally died. I know I rejoiced. I no longer had to wear pizza to visit my inlaws.

The fact that I do not like, and am, in fact, terrified of cats insures that I will always attract cats in one way or another. I seem to repeatedly find myself in predicaments like this one today. The last time it happened was almost three years ago when I found a kitten on Fort Weaver Road in Ewa Beach. It died during the first night in my care. Not before I had invested 200 bucks into it, though. Fucker.

And so it was that I found myself racing upstairs, Roman in tow, to announce to Mike that we had to help this kitten. Mike, an animal lover like myself, and former cat enthusiast, got a box, some towels, loaded us all up into our rented Jeep Grand Cherokee (the Mama Mobile is still, and might forever be, in the shop) and raced off through the pouring rain to the vet on base.

Mike said the baby looked to have been attacked by another cat. Indeed, as we pulled away from the scene, an adult cat came skulking by, stopping at the pool of blood we had left behind. It didn't look good. We naturally assumed we were driving the baby to be humanely euthanized. It broke my heart. I could hardly even look at the wee little thing, struggling to breathe, hacking up blood, as it lay helpless in my lap. I would glance down every couple of minutes just to check if it was still breathing and say a prayer to St. Francis to bring the kitten comfort.

I dropped Mike and the cat off at the vet and I went on to pick up Reilly Kate. When I returned Mike was more chipper than I imagined he would be having just had to release a little soul into the universe. He said they whisked the baby out of his arms when he brought it in and explained what was going on. He said before he left, the receptionist told him they were bringing the baby into surgery.

So maybe, just maybe little baby had a chance.

I will call tomorrow to find out. Even if not, I just hope that by us reaching out and doing something, it eased that poor thing's passing. Since becoming a mother, my compassion for all of God's creatures has significantly increased. And I was an animal lover before. But something about motherhood has made me that much more nurturing and caring. My heart aches right now for a kitten I've never even made eye contact with.

Sleep well, little baby, wherever you are.