Small stone, Vol. 2, #8

A few minutes ago, I helped a stranger cat to die. Not directly, but it was close enough. He’s a street cat, beefy and tough and full of spit and bravado. He’d been hit by a car. I think his hip is shattered. With the help of some neighbors, I coaxed his broken body into a cage and sat with him until another neighbor could come to take him to the vet, where he will be coaxed back out of the cage, talked softly to, and injected with sedatives until his tiny, tired heart stops beating.

Right now, my own cats are quietly eating their breakfast in the kitchen, and my own heart is broken.

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