Saving Sheila

Two or three days ago, I heard the sound of very loud, yet tiny sounding meowing outside of my apartment complex. Since I was taking my dog for a short walk before work, I couldn't really approach it, but once I took her back upstairs, I went in search of the tiny kitteh. I heard it hidden among some foliage, meowing it's little head off. I thought I caught a glimpse of a little body and blue eyes. I tried calling it; I tried finding it. It was too far in and it refused to come out. Racking my brains for anything I could do to help it, I immediately thought of the cans of tuna fish we had in our pantry. Sadly, they didn't have a pop top and my automatic can opener was out of juice. Then I realized I had a can of sardines. If I could pull one apart into tiny pieces, maybe I could lure the kitten out. But once I got to its hiding place, the tab broke, and the can remained stuck. Frustrated, I said a little prayer that someone else would find it and headed off to work. When I returned, I didn't hear any meowing, so I optimistically assumed someone *had* found it and helped it.

This afternoon, I was taking the trash out, when I heard it again, much louder, much more desperate. Immediately, I went to the bushes. The closer I got, the quieter it would become. I threw my trash to the side and got down on my hands and knees. It was hard to see, but there she was: a black kitten with green eyes, watching me warily. I tried caling it; I reached my hand in and it crouched further beneath its shrub. Finally, with no idea what else to do, I reached in, grabbed it behind its scrawny head, and pulled. Scooping her up into my arms, she immediately went quiet and curled into me. She even started purring a little. But all I could think was, "What now?" We can't have a cat. I didn't know anyone that wanted one. But I couldn't just leave her.

After a fruitless attempt at contacting a woman in my complex who was an advocate for animals, and a ring over at the humane society where they informed me all shelters were full, and many phone calls, I contacted my aunt. She agreed to take her, nurse her to health, and find her a home. I was so grateful I could have cried. I waited in my bathroom (to avoid a confrontation with my dog), letting the kitten sleep in my arms, until my aunt called. We surmised it was a little young to eat real food, and that not only was it severely dehydrated, but it was ill.

I hope you find a good home, Sheila. (Yes, I named the baby.)