The injured kitten

With compassion in her eyes...

On the lonely pavement leading to yck road, a small ginger kitten, shivering from the cold, was struggling to grip the wet ground with its two front legs - its hind legs, broken and lying limply behind it as it tried to drag itself up. Its eyes were already glazed over from the pain as it trembled violently from the cold, having no shelter from the pelting rain.

That was what I found, on the way to work. I always talk to strays, so as I happily listened to my earphones, I mewed at the little kitten, but abruptly stopped as I realised with a sickening horror to the pit of my stomach that it was injured. Sure enough, the hind legs were broken - although by what, I could not fathom - definitely not a car accident because there were no traces of blood. It looked shell-shocked and cold, and hungry... I felt so much pity, so much compassion for the little wounded creature as it stuggled to balance precariously on its two front legs. Dismally, I looked around for help and wondered what could I possibly do. I knew with a sinking feeling that it would probably die of the cold, if not of the injuries. Some kindly residents brought out a blanket and some rice, and brought it to under a tree for shelter, but I felt that I had to do something, not just walk away - as I was sure if I had not done anything, the image of the small kitten, shivering and trying to stand, would haunt me always as I walk this road... Asked a passerby for help in finding a box for the small kitten. Was told later at the SPCA that it would most probably be put to sleep, as I'd expected.

On the way there, I couldn't stop tearing as I fingered the kitten's head, which was sleeping peacefully in the box by now. It opened its eyes to look at me from time to time, and one of its' paws curled round tightly on my fingers, as though it could gain some comfort from it. The taxi driver at first thought that it was sick and refused to take me, but after hearing that it was an injured stray he was more compassionate, and when we reached the SPCA, was so touched that he said, "No need to pay. Take it as my contribution for the cat." I thought that was a really kind gesture of his.

Left the kitten there - it was so pretty, with wide eyes and ginger colored, would have grown up to be really nice. Somehow it knew, that I was leaving it, because when I passed the box to the staff, it because distraught as well, and kept clawing the box and making a sort of anguished, wailing noise - rather feebly, almost like it was lamenting its' short life. The staff said it was about 2 months old. I cried not for the fact that it was going to be put down, I just was slightly traumatised at seeing suffering, and knowing for sure that the end was near.

Warrie said that what I did should be applauded, but I really did not deserve the compliment - I actually deliberated what I should do, and even contemplated walking away. That was really I wanted to wrap it in my coat but at the same time, feared that moving it would cause further injury. I felt really bad for even having to think what I should do, and whether I should do it. In the Bible, it said that Jesus looked at the people with compassion in his eyes. I imagine tears, too. I couldn't stop tearing - but I did not feel stupid or anything, just real sad that this happened and I was there to do something about it. Perhaps if Jesus sees the things I've done, he would be sad too. I am so weak sometimes I just want to be wrapped tightly, and hold on to His finger.