No act of kindness is wasted
Edited to add: yes, the title is cheesy and overused and on posters and motivational calendars everywhere. But cut me some slack, OK? It was four in the morning and I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
Dave and I were on our way out of Crescent City, CA. I was driving because he hadn’t slept well the previous night. (Something about a beeping lighthouse…) Near the edge of town, I saw a Walgreens and quickly pulled into their parking lot. Most of these chain stores carry similar stock, so I was pretty sure I could get a new blanket and a gallon of Red Bull there. Yay! They had the “too small to cover a person but exactly the right size to protect hotel pillows from Casey’s red hair” blankets, and the required amount of Red Bull for a road trip, plus this blanket was extra soft and came wrapped in a pretty red ribbon. Score! We were soon back on the road. Taking Highway 101 North to Newport OR (Rogue Ales Mothership, we’re almost there!)
Ten miles out of town we approached a black and white kitty who had been hit by a car and was laying in the tiny double-wide-double-yellow-line center-divider of the highway. I went around him, and as we passed, he lifted his head and looked right at me. At us. Oh deities of all faiths, please tell me I didn’t see what I just saw. In the car, a moment of silence, then…. Me: “He’s still alive!” Dave: “He is! Should we go back? What do we do?” I thought for a couple of seconds, pulled the car over to the shoulder. Glanced left then right and pulled a high-speed u-turn back toward the kitty. Dave: “What are we going to do? What can we do?” Me: “Something. Anything. See if he’s still alive. Check around for owners. Call a doctor.”
As we approached the spot where the kitty was still laying, I slowed, then stopped on the shoulder, the nose of our car nearly parallel to the little injured guy on the highway. I was out the door and tearing into the trunk as fast as I could move. Yanked the new blanket out of it’s bag, tore it open, and tossed the cardboard sheets it had been wrapped around aside, in time to hear Dave yell, “It’s running over here!” And he had – this battered little guy had overcome the fear of being struck again and summoned the strength to move; and he’d run right to us, then collapsed into the gravel right at our feet. Blanket in hand, I cautiously approached; crouched and made myself small; spoke softly and gently touched him. I assured him that we were going to help and that he could trust us. I spread the blanket around behind him, then scooped him up, so that his weight was supported all around, but that he could see out and we could see in. He was surrounded in softness and warmth and love. Then we got to business.
One car and one truck had also stopped. No, the cat didn’t belong to them, and no, they didn’t actually think they could do anything. The car folks left right away, while the Cowboy hat-sporting gentleman from the truck went into the trailer park and asked one of the residents if he knew whose cat it could be. Cowboy hat to cowboy hat, they conferred in Spanish about the situation. The resident’s response, essentially, was “who cares?” The woman traveling in the truck with Cowboy-hat-man (and two dogs) suggested that we could take him to one of the vet hospitals back in CC, but there was no local SPCA or anything that might help for free. Cowboy-hat-man gave us lengthy directions to take the kitty to “county” – which we took to mean “sheriff” and, therefore, “someone to end it.” “OK, thanks” we say as Dave helps get me into the car so we don’t jostle the kitty. We head for town FAST. I’m holding the kitty as gently as possible, stroking his ears, and trying not to dissolve into a pile of tears. Dave’s on my iPhone dialing the nearest veterinarian. Convincing the receptionist that even though it’s not our cat, it desperately needs some help, and could they please please please be the place for us to bring this little guy.
The kitty starts to pant (his nose was clogged with blood, so maybe he couldn’t breathe?), so I turn on the air conditioner, thinking maybe he’s in shock and is getting too warm? I hold a paper to keep the sunlight from hitting him directly. I’m openly crying now. The small drops of his blood on the blanket are just SO red. Hic-hic-hiccup. Soothing noises to the kitty; a few for myself. Actually, aside from the road dirt and the blood from his nose, he looks OK. His eyes are bright and he’s paying attention to things moving and changing. He tentatively licks his nose. He’s got longer hair and cute little tufts coming out of his ears, but he has the same B&W markings as our two cats, safely back at home.
We arrive at the vet’s office. Dave helps me get out and lets us into the office. The receptionist says that every doctor and nurse is out to lunch, but are due back soon, so if we could leave kitty in one of the back kennels, they’d tend to him as soon as possible. I gently placed kitty, still snug in his new blanket, into one of the waiting cages. Asked the receptionist to please get some water for him. Offered some money to “help with the exam costs plus … you know, if…” More crying. Kitty starts to pant again. Receptionist says that’s a natural reaction to pain. She asked for details of where we’d found him and we had only a tiny bit of info. Because we were heading back that way, we assured her that we would call with road names, trailer park names, whatever we could get. I touched the little guy through the cage bars and said goodbye.
Back in the car now, Dave was driving now because I was in hysterics.We got back to the cross roads and I started taking notes to call the vet office back with details. Dave looked in the trunk for something to make signs out of and, behold, there were the two pieces of cardboard around which that blanket had been packaged. Dave wrote two copies of a note, with the details, that the cat was still alive, and could be found at the Vet Hospital, and the phone number and address of the hospital. He attached the note to the bank of mail boxes by the trailer park, and put the other note on the gate of the house across from the trailer park. I called and gave the receptionist all the information we had, and told her that we’d left notes, and hoped for the best. She told me that the vet was examining the kitty right then. I didn’t ask for an update, but I thanked her profusely for taking care of a cat who desperately needed some kindness.
Dave’s still driving, because I can’t stop crying. Bawling for a cat we barely knew, whose life had taken such a horrifying turn, and who we helped find some comfort, maybe a little less fear, and hopefully some care or at least a humane ending. Tears of sadness for the little guy, so scared, but brave enough to run to us for help. Tears of anger over the negligent parents. When you bring a domestic animal into your home, you agree to love them, to feed them, and to take good care of them. Their little lives are in your hands. And some asshole broke his agreement by letting an 8-pound animal outside within 100 feet of a freeway. Jerk.
The red ribbon that had been tied around the blanket we used to comfort the kitty? Pinned to a wall in my living room as a reminder that no matter how heart-wrenching it is to stop, it is the only possible thing to do. We all need kindness, we all need comfort, and sometimes we just need friends to scoop us up in softness and whisper gently to us that things are going to be all right.
Casey
Thank you for sharing this story! It does really drive home how fragile life is and how tender when we have the courage to open ourselves to that and show kindness. I don’t know if I would have had that capacity to do all you did and I am comforted to know that you are out there leading the way!
You guys are amazing for doing that. You’ve done more than your share of scooping up busted carcasses and telling them that everything is going to be alright lately.