THE CAT WITH NO NAME

It was a cold and rainy morning as I fought melancholy with purposeful action; heading for groceries for a post funeral gathering tomorrow. A block from home, under a neighbors street parked car appeared to be a small animal. Turning my car around and parking behind their car, I coaxed from underneath a tiny, wet, bedraggled kitten. Really tiny.

No near neighbors claimed her or knew of a local mama cat, so wrapped in a towel one of them generously donated, off we went back to my house for reinforcements from my husband and then to the veterinarian we use for our own cats.

As she warmed in my arms her tiny mewl came infrequently but surely, her coat dried and smoothed out and she slept.

But her rough start was to get worse and our dark day, darker. Only weeks old, she had a respiratory infection. Her eyes were not clear. Her snuggles were likely really lethargy.

And there was no room at the inn. Isolation at our vet was full. We drove from place to place with despair, the cat with no name snug in my arms. All the other clinics either did not have isolation or were full.  We have no isolation area in our home and two elderly cats - one blind and one deaf - who would, and should not be asked to, risk a sick stray. Local Helping Hands foster homes were overflowing even if they would take a sick kitten. The local Animal Shelter, who makes every attempt to be low kill, has no isolation room and does put down sick animals.

So with tears flowing we took her to one of the vets to be put to sleep. A cat with no name.

My head knows that this was the right decision; knows that with out us she would have crawled into a soggy corner and died a miserable death; knows that her two hours of warmth, love and cuddles, her death in caring arms was the only possible choice.

My heart knows only sorrow. Sorrow that this living animal was put out, dropped off as unwanted or merely neglected. Sorrow that whatever love and joy she would have brought to our world is lost forever. Sorrow, tinged with a bit of anger, that her mother wasn't spayed.

I'm asking Khayyam, Nastasha, Toughie, Sandro, Orca, Scooter and their big doggie sister Seamus to watch for her. They can call her Angel.