The vet answered briskly, "You can treat this cat for $150 or so, or you can realize that this is a very sick kitty and take it to a shelter."
"If I take it to a shelter, will they be able to treat it?"
"Well it will need fluids probably, a fecal, a thorough exam, shots...honestly, if they see that it has parasites, they will euthanize it. Just remember, there is no right decision, so take your time deciding," the vet said as she walked back into her office completely unaffected by the weight of the decision that lay before me.
It was clear that if I wanted to talk to her about this situation any further it would be through appointment and ensuing payment only. (I really thought vets might do a bit of pro-bono work, especially for kittens that just appeared in the back of my husband's truck but evidently not at Petsmart.)
I felt the tears starting to well up in my eyes. I cradled the little grey kitten in one hand and grabbed my cell phone in the other as I turned my face away from the counter.
In my mind I was back on my couch last summer hearing the horrible news about how sick John was, and I was being asked to make an impossible decision. My doctor then had said similar words, "Either decision is a right decision." How could I decide what to do about this little kitten that somehow ended up in the back of my husband's truck? Of COURSE I wanted to spend the $150 dollars or whatever it would take to get this cat well. It could actually GET better.
Thankfully I was quite aware of my feelings (Can you say TRANSFERENCE) and I knew I wanted to help the kitten (yes because it is a living thing) but more because I wasn't able to help John. I dialed Brian's number hoping that he might pick up and tell me, "Of course, help the cat we don't plan on keeping and who might not make it after being starved since Saturday."
I was looking for someone to share in the decision making process.
He did not answer his phone- he was taking interviews all afternoon. At this point I really started to crumble. All the while thinking, "Seriously...I've had these emotions in check for what three months now...why are they so close to the surface? Why am I equating this decision with the one we had to make for John?"
The simple answer is that I will always have these feelings that connect back to John. I understand this, and I'm just ready for the time when it doesn't surprise me that I'm feeling them so deeply. I view my life through the lens of my experiences, and John is a pretty hefty experience. Still someday, I keep thinking I will find it normal that I feel so much.
Back to this kitten (who I named Camilla after Fozzy the Muppet's chicken). When Brian didn't pick up the phone I called Mack, my father-in-law who had helped me out with the other two kittens that I found on Sunday (What's the deal with stray kittens picking our house to come to?). Mack offered to come over and help me with the kitten and take it to his house to a mama cat who would adopt it. I thanked him profusely and turned around to thank the receptionist at the vet section in Petsmart. Since she had heard everything I also was going to tell her that all was taken care of...ie my story of how that occured.
Before I could speak the receptionist, Carrie, leaned forward over the counter casting a furtive look back toward the door the callous vet left through.
"Listen, my sister is a cat person and she rescues them all the time, I know she would want to take this kitten," Carrie said conspiratorially.
"Really, are you sure she would want this one?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes, if she doesn't, I will take him home."
"Ok, well...wow, thank you."
We worked out the details, she explained how I should use the formula bottle I got for Camilla, and how to best get her to eat. We agreed that Carrie would call when she got off work shortly after 8.
I took Camilla home, sniffly from crying, and let Mack know I had found a home for Camilla here in town. He was wonderful about it all.
Well eight o'clock came and went and then 8:20...8:35...8:46...no phone call. I literally flipped my phone open to call Mack and tell him that Carrie must have bailed on me when my phone lit up with an unknown number!
Carrie and I agreed to meet at THE Walmart in town (that THE was for Borrego). I took my purring friend, who was looking quite perky after her substitute mother's milk bottle, and hopped in the car.
We met up with Carrie and she told me how excited she was to take the cat (I didn't tell her I had named her Camilla) home.
"Well, you certainly renewed my belief in the kindness of strangers" I said with a corniness slipping into my voice that I was not expecting.
"I do work for a vet," She laughed, "It kind of goes with my job."
We smiled and parted ways outside of the Walmart. I hope that Camilla likes her new home. I'm thankful that she has someone who will take good care of her and will feel great about investing in her health...probably at a discounted rate since she works at a vet's office. Although, I do hope she takes Camilla to see the other vet that works at Petsmart!
Daisy on the way home...she couldn't quite figure out how this sitting on the seat thing worked...I had to pull over 2 times to reposition her!
Her sad stitches. The look a LOT better now, three days out from this pic! 
Daisy resting after her surgery. She eventually came in and curled up on the couch with me as the drugs started to wear off.
