Sad Kitty...

This might get a little long, but hopefully you will hang with me.

On Friday afternoon, Sandi, Brenda and I came home from grocery shopping to find a tiny little orange tabby kitty sitting near our back gate.  I had seen it a few weeks ago, in front of our neighbors who live across the way.  It had always been lethargic, almost oblivious to its surroundings.  Friday was no different.  As Brenda and I opened the gate to pull the truck in, the kitty just kind of wandered a little closer in front of the gate, directly in the path of where Sandi would be pulling the truck.  I reached down and picked up the little guy to move him out of the way.  (For the purpose of this post, I’ll call the cat a ‘he’.)

I noticed, not that it took any effort, that the kitty was nothing but bones with semblance of fur.  Malnourished would be an understatement.  He was probably aboout 8 weeks old, but sooooo much smaller than he should be.  His tail was mangled, his eye had an infection and was oozing a little bit of green goo, and his breathing was labored.  It was obvious he had a cold or respiratory infection.  So, after putting away my groceries, I did the only thing I could: I made the little guy some food.  I took a bit of cat food and added warm water to soften it and create some broth, and also provide some water.  I brought the food outside our gate and offered it to him.  He lapped it up in no time.  I didn’t want to give him too much food all at once because I was pretty sure it would upset his stomach.

After petting the kitty and talking to him while he was eating, and even getting a few tiny mews out of him, I came back inside our property.  And, as you might imagine, my new friend made his way under the gate and into our yard.  Actually, I was hoping he would do just that because at least he’d be safe from the dogs and other predators out there – including the neighborhood kids, who think nothing of throwing rocks at dogs and cats. As tiny as he was, he was able to hop up the few steps to my door and just sat there for a while.  I didn’t want to give him more food yet, though.  An hour later I went out to see if he was still there, but he had moved on.  I checked outside the gate and didn’t see him.  I figured he’d show up again when he was ready to.

Saturday morning, I left early to get to the university for my day of teaching.  Yet, as I left the back gate on my motorcycle, I searched all around for the little kitty. Nope, he wasn’t there. 

But, when I got home at 5:00 pm, the kitty was once again in the grass at the side of the gate.  He seemed even more lethargic than usual, barely moving.  In fact, when I first pulled up and got off my moto, I had to stare at him a bit just to see that he was breathing.  I brought my motorcycle inside and parked it in its usual space.  Then I went inside and made some more food for the kitty.

I decided to bring the kitty inside the gate, so I walked outside and gently scooped him up.  The poor little guy couldn’t even support his own weight. He was just flopping around.  I don’t know what had happened in 24 hours; he shouldn’t have been that weak.  There was a rag on the ground, so I arranged it for the kitty to lay in.  He couldn’t eat, or even lap up the broth.  Something was seriously wrong.

After a few minutes, Sandi came over and brought some Pedialyte.  We figured we’d try to get some diluted electrolytes into the little guy.  Sandi used a syringe, without the needle, of course, to try to get some liquid down his throat.  We were only moderately  successful. 

I fixed up a cardboard box for the kitty and put in the rag, some newspapers and the food.  I kept going over to check on him and pet him.  Well, it was just a gentle stroke with one finger. I really had no idea how he could have gotten into such bad shape in less than a day.  He couldn’t stand and could barely flop his paws just enough to change his position.  I put some of the broth on my finger to see if I could get him to lick it.  Nope.  His breathing was so labored. He had not made a sound.

About an hour after I put him into the box, Sad Kitty breathed his last.  With me right there, petting him.  It was tough to see him suffer like that, gasping for air that just wouldn’t fill his tiny lungs.  I got a flashlight to really check to see if his lungs were expanding or if his eyes would change.  He was gone.  I waited a few more minutes, just in case, and then I called Sandi and asked her how I should dispose of the body.  Sandi and Trifi came over and Trifi took the box and was planning to bury the cat.  You can’t just put them in a plastic bag and into the trash because other animals will get into them.

I talked with Sandi about how quickly he had gone downhill from the day before.  It just didn’t make sense.  In fact, just the opposite: he had eaten at least a little bit of real food and that should have helped him.  Sandi told me that it was entirely possible (and even probable) that our neighbors had poisoned him.  Animals are not even close to cared for here.

So I was left with my thoughts.  And my tears. I thought about the tiny life that was gone.  Then my thoughts turned to two friends from Facebook: one who lost her son this week and another whose brother will die any day now.  My tears were nothing compared to theirs.

Then I thought about the song Soft Kitty from The Big Bang Theory and changed the words to fit the situation:

Sad kitty, sick kitty,

Little ball of fur.

Weak kitty, dead kitty,

No more purr.