There have been many times since starting this rescue that I’ve wanted to throw in the towel and say I quit — my heart can’t take it anymore. Those times have never been about the awfulness or evil of cats. Even the most challenging ones are poignant to me in their own ways. Even the one who stabbed my hand, nearly sending me to the ER, had a story I could understand. He was terrified, I told myself, and thought I was going to hurt him.
Humans, on the other hand… I have seen with my own eyes the results of their selfishness and even cruelty to animals. Over and over and over again. They see a hungry or lost pet and turn a blind eye. They take their pets to shelters when they no longer provide a source of amusement. Or they drive somewhere, open their car door, and just put them out.
Four cats in six months have been dumped at the farm where I feed. Three have been adopted by new people, and one of them is now my foster, until I can decide whether she’s truly adoptable. (Boisterously hyper, Abby understandably has anxiety issues to work through.) When I look in her sweet eyes I wonder WHO could have done this to her, and why the F.
Because I’m at the age where I’m trying hard to practice compassion, I try to understand what the abandoners’ story might be. Perhaps the abandonment was done because they were seriously broke and could not even feed themselves, let alone a cat. Perhaps the cat was ill (as has happened several times) and vet bills would be impossibly high. Perhaps when the car door opened, a little girl was sobbing in the back seat, begging her parents not to do this. Perhaps the parents were crying too. So I try, I really try, to not vilify those whose actions cause harm and pain to animals, and tons of work for me.
But I ran out of any shred of understanding last weekend, when a kitten was discovered next to a busy road, by one of our wonderful volunteers. She was right out in the open, so not in a place where a mama would have given birth. She was dumped there. The volunteer scooped her up and took her home.
Because she was having trouble breathing, the next day she was rushed to a vet. Pneumonia, the vet diagnosed. She is dying. The volunteer held her while they did the kindest thing they knew how to do. Abandoned in life, she was shown love and commitment in her final moments, and I’m grateful for that.
But the incident felt like something of a last straw for me. It broke my heart, yes, but it put me in a rage. When I got the word, I was driving home from my daughter’s home in Santa Cruz, about an hour away down the Coast Highway. I was in angry tears and questioning aloud whether I had it in me to continue hearing these stories, which only served to make me lose my last remaining shred of faith in the human race.
And then something happened on the road ahead of me. Traffic was moving fast at 50-60 mph, but I saw car far ahead, and then a second, swerve to the right, come to a full stop and throw on their emergency flashers. Oh no, I thought, someone hit a deer?
I watched two young men climb out of the stopped vehicles. One of them turned to oncoming traffic and started waving frantically to stop. I watched anxiously in my rearview mirror as I slowed and stopped, hoping the people behind me would see what was happening and not plow into me. And then I saw the first young man begin walking quickly, his arms low to the ground as he moved in a puzzling serpentine pattern. When he stood up, I understood what was happening: a tiny dog – maybe a Shih Tzu? – was frantically running around on the highway, clearly lost.
I jumped out of my car and joined in the effort to get the little dog to calm down long enough for one of us to grab him, but each lunge by one of his would-be rescuers was met by him moving further away. Before I knew it, seven or eight cars full of people had stopped and easily 12 people were now trying to save the tiny pooch — waving their arms, tapping their thighs, beckoning to him. I stood and looked around me at the growing crowd. Oh my god, I thought. This is amazing.
Happily, just as we were getting close to grabbing him, a car drove up and a woman leapt out, calling his name. He ran to her and she burst into tears. Said he had dug a hole in his yard and gotten out. She didn’t thank us, but her joy was payment.
When I got to Pigeon Point Lighthouse – one my favorite vistas – I pulled over to think about the day’s events. The Universe isn’t usually so obvious with its lessons, swooping in to renew my faith in humankind literally before I’d even finished writing us off. But I was grateful that it didn’t let me wallow in anger and hatred too long. Life’s too short, and there are too many worthy creatures who need my help.
And by that, I mean humans.
Another moment like yours that occurred last week in Glen Ellen on my midweek errand run: a turtle with a 12 inch shell began to cross Arnold Drive in front of me. I stopped and so did the car in the oncoming lane. The driver of that car jumped out of his vehicle as I checked to see what everyone else was doing. The driver, a man, said he would pick up the turtle. He looked at me in all seriousness and asked “Which way was the turtle going?” I pointed to the field across the road and that is where the man placed the turtle. The traffic resumed its flow, not a honk was sounded.