I think this happened on a nice day in January. I'm bad with dates, and it still feels like only yesterday anyway.
It was early afternoon, a very nice, warm day for winter, shortly after moving, and we'd just come back from getting needed groceries. While taking the groceries in, I noticed a cat over in the corner of the yard, next to the neighbour's house. She looked so much like my cat that I was certain Zombi had gotten out -- until I saw Zombi watching me from the window.
This is how the cat I didn't even know for an hour came into my life.
Looking at her hurt me. She looked at me and made this...broken little sound. I had my S/O catch her and bring her onto our property -- he was wearing gloves, and he's better with animals than I am.
She looked like she hadn't eaten in...ever, and her nails were grown all the way around back into her paw pads. I never thought 'd see anything like that. I didn't think it was possible. Her ears were mangled. The vet told us it was frostbite.
My first reaction wasn't really smart. I ran inside to get a handfull of dry food, some of the canned food Zombi no longer likes, and a little milk [I know, it's not great for them, but some of them like a little bit] and some water. I just wanted to give her something. Anything. And I didn't know what else to do. She ate a little of the soft food, and drank a little of the milk.
I don't remember who called the friend with the wife that works at the nearby vet, but we ended up taking her down there.
One of the vets working there was nice enough to come out and talk to us after having a look at her. He told us about the frostbite and the nails, and that her teeth were gone. He also told us she was at least fifteen years old.
Then came the options: she could be sent off to the local animal control, where they'd try to find her owner. She'd spend a lot of time in a tiny cage. We could claim her for ourselves and try to heal her. Or, the vet could act as a good samaritan and put her to sleep. We decided, and the vet allowed us to go back and say goodbye.
I like to think that putting her down was in her best interest. It's not really her death that hurts me the most, but the idea that her life could be represented by how she was when she came into mine. I still cry for her.
She died without a name.
It was early afternoon, a very nice, warm day for winter, shortly after moving, and we'd just come back from getting needed groceries. While taking the groceries in, I noticed a cat over in the corner of the yard, next to the neighbour's house. She looked so much like my cat that I was certain Zombi had gotten out -- until I saw Zombi watching me from the window.
This is how the cat I didn't even know for an hour came into my life.
Looking at her hurt me. She looked at me and made this...broken little sound. I had my S/O catch her and bring her onto our property -- he was wearing gloves, and he's better with animals than I am.
She looked like she hadn't eaten in...ever, and her nails were grown all the way around back into her paw pads. I never thought 'd see anything like that. I didn't think it was possible. Her ears were mangled. The vet told us it was frostbite.
My first reaction wasn't really smart. I ran inside to get a handfull of dry food, some of the canned food Zombi no longer likes, and a little milk [I know, it's not great for them, but some of them like a little bit] and some water. I just wanted to give her something. Anything. And I didn't know what else to do. She ate a little of the soft food, and drank a little of the milk.
I don't remember who called the friend with the wife that works at the nearby vet, but we ended up taking her down there.
One of the vets working there was nice enough to come out and talk to us after having a look at her. He told us about the frostbite and the nails, and that her teeth were gone. He also told us she was at least fifteen years old.
Then came the options: she could be sent off to the local animal control, where they'd try to find her owner. She'd spend a lot of time in a tiny cage. We could claim her for ourselves and try to heal her. Or, the vet could act as a good samaritan and put her to sleep. We decided, and the vet allowed us to go back and say goodbye.
I like to think that putting her down was in her best interest. It's not really her death that hurts me the most, but the idea that her life could be represented by how she was when she came into mine. I still cry for her.
She died without a name.
