Dog Days and Dying Kittens

These days in between 4th of July and back-to-school time seem extra long this year. The community pools are closed, there are no camps, and shut-in kids are probably going a bit stir-crazy. I've never been a big fan of this sweltering stretch, but back when I spent time with my children we passed the weeks swimming, camping, treehouse zip-lining, and watching movies in air-conditioned theaters. Between COVID and my new life's work schedule (lots of night shifts), I find myself with a fair amount of indoor time on my hands. Skipper and I can only go on so many runs, and I certainly won't take him after 8am when the temperature climbs past 85 degrees.

A few days ago, as I was driving to one of my regular seven-mile running loops, I came upon a furry black lump in a bend in the road. I quickly recognized it as a kitten, abandoned by its mother and dying, right there on the asphalt. I sighed deeply, got out of the truck, and approached to inspect. The little critter was caked with dirt, balled up, its eyes completely matted shut with crusty drainage and its face pressed unnaturally against the heating asphalt. It was scrawny and tattered, and its respirations were labored, death-rattle style. I suspected it would not live to see another day. I picked it up, put it in the back seat, and took it home.

Three days and one $220 vet bill later, I have a damn cat. Its pneumonia is improving and her eyes are clearing to the point where she can almost see. It doesn't meow- it squeaks. Even after multiple baths, it smells bad. I have to keep wet cat food and a litter box around, which both smell even worse. It waddles around on the carpet, it's tiny six-week old body attempting to burrow under my sleeping 80-pound German Shepherd looking for a teet to nurse on. Skipper is now looking at me like What the fuck, dude? We were just fine in our man-home before you contaminated it with this thing! 

I can't but help think to myself that I am that critter's Higher Power. It had hit bottom, abandoned by its family, and was near death. I appeared out of nowhere, reached down, picked it up, and breathed life into it. I cleaned it, fed it, and provided medical assistance and shelter. I gave it a fighting, second chance. What it does with this chance is it's decision.

Just like you dude- almost four years ago  you were lying on your basement floor, drunk and overdosed, near the end, and your HP grabbed you and gave you new life. You were nursed back to health. Later down the line you turned around and did the same for the young alcoholic you sponsored, then Cassie's sister, and now this kitten.

Cycle of life. Twelfth Step. Pay it forward, whatever you want to call it. I guess that it is what we, who grow in recovery, were put on this Earth to do. “Having had a spiritual awakening...“

Still, the damn cat smells like shit.



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