I don’t even like cats. I’m a pug person. Yet I’ve never saved a pug. But for some reason, I’ve been in two situations in which I tried to save one cat, and did save another. So, my cat karma being in the plus category, no cat can bother me again for the rest of my life.
The first encounter with the miserable world of helpless-and-harmless-animal-eating-murdercats was when I was about 11 or 12. I was walking home along a road that was deserted except for a grain elevator. Since it was Saturday, the elevator was closed.
I suddenly heard a meowing from the side of the road. When I investigated I found a kitten in the weeds. He – or she – was about two months old.
The reason I couldn’t tell if it was a he or she was the area in question was mangled beyond recognition. The bone was showing.
I was mystified as to how this mangled kitten ended up on the side of a deserted road. I had no idea how it was mangled in such a bizarre way, and still don’t have a clue. Did somebody dump it? I doubt it could have crawled from a house, the nearest one being a mile away.
I carried the cat home, told my parents, who called the vet and were told nothing could be done, so I put the kitten on a blanket in the garage and gave it some water. It didn’t last the night.
I buried it in the backyard, which was an annoyance since it was all stretched out in rigor mortis, so I had to dig a trench. It didn’t even have the decency to die curled up in a ball. Even dead, it had to torment me.
These days, I would have taken it to the vet to be euthanized, since it was beyond hope. But I was 11, maybe 12. I didn’t even know animals were euthanized.
If nothing else, I tried to make it as comfortable as possible.
In college I was delivering pizzas in the rain and found a wet cat next to a dumpster. I put him in my car and dried him off with the heater. Then he jumped on me, started purring and kneading me. It’s not going to work, cat! I’m not taking you home!
I found a dry spot and put him there. Damn cats, trying to play on my sympathy and then leaves mutilated dead mice on the front and back porches. Or brings them into house alive so it can torture them to death at its convenience. Bastards!
My next major encounter with carnivorous evil killercats was decades later, when I saw one cat fall down a storm drain after fighting with another cat. I dragged the fifty-pound manhole cover off, pulled the cat up with some wire, and so saved its utterly worthless life. It ran off without a thank-you.
I spent half-an-hour out of my life saving one member of this foul and most foreign species.
So listen up cats! After all I’ve done for you, I expect some gratitude. Since cats are incapable of gratitude, I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone. In other words, I DON’T WANT TO SAVE ANY MORE CATS!
Stop coming up to me on the street begging for food and trying to follow me home. I DON’T WANT YOU. I DON’T LIKE CATS!
Thank you very much.