His message was short and straightforward: “I picked up a kitten off the street on my way to the factory; she has no mother, can you pick her up?”
I wasn’t expecting any of that. My hand was glued to my cellphone waiting for an update about Miko, and here comes another trouble.
I was about to say no. I have five cats at the vet right now: Rexie has Megacolon and requiring surgery, Miss Kitty has a lot of blood work and X Ray to do (turned out she has Toxoplasmosis, and so needs medical treatment for at least three months), Sassy had a sudden fluid built up, requiring emergency treatment, and Ginger needs a check-up as she has FIP. I have 90 cats shelter to run, a colony to care for, mortgage and bills to pay, and three jobs to keep.
He told me the cat is a baby. He cannot bring her to the factory, he cannot drive back home because it’s in the next town, and he will definitely not be leaving the baby in the car while he is working.
When I finally meet him a few hours later, somewhere in the other end of town, he told me he saw a guy with a motorcycle throw her to the roadside, and the kitten had run to the middle of the street in panic. Another motorcycle rider swept her off, but threw her back to the roadside, so she will not be killed, but obviously, the kitten ran back crying to the middle of that busy road. First for her mother, second for her life, as stupid as it might seem.
In all the mess we’re stirred into, we brought her home. She is only four weeks of age and she came with a hope for salvation, so we had to give her a chance.
Even when we don’t know how much of a chance we can give, with our grave financial challenges at this moment.
Even when we don’t know how to keep her, when we can barely keep ourselves alive through the week.
Even when all I have left is faith and hope, neither of the two will feed the empty tummy of a four weeks old baby, and ninety more at the other side of the window.
Even when all that is left to do is trying my best.