Foundling

Cyprus is a wealthy country. There are no homeless or beggars visible in the streets (although I’m sure there are some homeless and paperless hiding away in mosque courtyards and abandoned houses). But one certain kind of misery is very plain to see on this lovely island every day. Animal misery.

Yesterday it suddenly got too much. Pulled over, left my kid in the car kind of misery, devastating and impossible to drive by anymore. A sick kitten in the street was so weak he didn’t even try to get out of the cars’ way. Filthy, hopeless, tiny figure in the street.

Now he’s at the vet’s. Medicated and special fed, next door to three other kitten foundlings and a fluffy house dog. He’s warm. We hope tomorrow when I visit he’ll be better.

My name is on his cage which feels strange. I’m not his momma am I? We can’t adopt him or soon I’ll be the one sick and suffering (I have asthma).
But he surely made a mark.

When my son talked to him, the kitten kept talking back. Lifted his little paw towards him against the side of the cardboard box. Then began to nod off exhausted, mid-thought. His paw still towards a friendly face and a warm voice, someone.

First morning at the clinic. All shaggy from flea spray and very sleepy too.