Cat: Found.

The following is a mostly-true tale of a running experience. There are many people that I notice, even at 6:30 in the morning! I say “mostly true” because I like to imagine the possibilities of a situation, even if I don’t know the outcome or background of certain circumstances.

I wrote this story several weeks back, but would like to share now:

I am running down the last stretch in the road. Five minutes till seven. Just one more mile and I'll have finished for the day. A cat darts in the road just behind a truck that zooms past me. I've learned to be more cautious with vehicles, even with the sun as bright as it is on this lazy late-summer day. I curve my trajectory to aim closer to the side of the road, rather than the six to eight feet of freedom that I prefer. The little cat in front of me doesn't dash across the road like I thought, but sniffs the ground. Oh, he's found some garbage. Gross. Well, I guess outdoor cats grow accustomed to anything. Right as I approach, the cat doesn't dash away like I thought he might. There is a smaller cat, of similar mostly-white and gray mottled coloring, lying on the road. Just a few weeks ago, I found another, who had been dead for a while, the blood pooled around the fuzzy head. This one, on the other hand, was not flat as a pancake, and moved a little bit when I bent down to touch her. I could see the little nipples on her stomach right next to a paw bent at ninety degrees. She blinked her eyes. I scooped her up like a little baby and tried to figure out which of the two closest houses she belonged to. The other cat who had found her hovered nearby, but remained waiting at a safe distance. I chose the house with the garage door slightly open, just like my parents had done with my cats when I was a kid. There was a light on over the door and the porch was crowded with overgrown bushes from the nearby garden. I knocked a couple times, then again, louder, in case I most likely woke up the family. There was an intercom next to the doorbell, and I yelled my name and that I thought that I had found one of their cats. "It's the little white one," I stated, to distinguish from the little gray one that had dashed up the tree as I approached the front porch. "I think that she has broken her paw and needs to go to the vet. She's not moving very much." Nobody answered. I knocked one more time and decided to place her on the sidewalk next to the garage. I didn't want them to run over her if for some very little chance they had not heard me. I tried looking up a phone number for the address but came up short. Then, because the garage was partially opened, I picked up the little one, with the mom or sister cat watching from a safe distance on the other side of the garage. Fortunately there was a mat next to the edge of the opening, which I hoped would keep her body heat in better. At this point, she was not moving her head anymore, though she was still warm. She seemed to be breathing very shallowly.

I decided to knock one more time and hear a window slide open. I yelled, "Hello?" Nobody answered, but a second window slid open next to it. "Do you have a cat? I found your cat, the little white one. I think she got hit by a car." I paused, but still heard no response. I've never gotten that before from an open window with a person on the other side. "I left her in the garage, on a mat. Her left paw is broken. I think she needs to be taken to the vet because she is not moving much. I think she might have internal injuries."

There is still no response from inside, and I consider switching to Spanish, but decide against it; to wait until I hear another voice on the other side of the screen.

Nothing.

Then another window opens, this time on the opposite side of the door. I repeat that I left her just inside the garage and decide it's my turn to bow out gracefully. I give one last look at the open garage, praying that this little one survives. I consider that they do not have money for the vet bill, but jog off, wondering if I could call my own vet and pay for it.

Have you ever had this disruption of your natural and moral sides? What I struggle with sometimes is knowing, even in more complicated situations, how to handle something. Should I base what I do on convenience? On what others expect? On what I want to do? There always is this flow of should…should…should in the back of my mind.

But should I?