January 29th, 2004
107535375643651060
“Compassion” (and not knowing what one is doing)
I noticed a cat sitting in the sun by the stairs of my apartment last Thursday, and our relationship has quickly evolved from there.
First, she was just a cute cat. Very thin, but cute. Then last Saturday, she was a cute cat with a dime-sized gouge in her flank. Shocked by the sever gore of the scene, I ran to the convenience store and returned to clean her wound with gauze and antiseptic. On Monday I thought I should take her to the hospital, and nearly attempted it Tuesday morning until it became apparent how resistant she would be to the ordeal. The wound began to close, and I left it at another cleaning and fed her. She wasn’t crazy about being kept in my room, even for a few minutes. After I got out of the shower I came back to find her as I expected standing on my desk.
At first she got defensive. She made the slightest beginnings of a hissing, but after I pet her and gave her another can of food, she just sat in front of my door and meowed and then looked at me. I think leaving her alone in a closed space makes her angry. If I tried to keep her in my room at night to keep her warm I’m sure I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. She has quite a bit of independent spirit; I guess all stray animals do. She doesn’t trust me enough yet to want to be with me all the time. However, when I let her out, I opened the door to the stairs, and she walked out and then turned around and waited for me. As I started closing the door, she stuck her head inside and looked as if maybe she would come back in on her own. But I made a clicking sound and gestured for her to go outside and she left.
Wednesday I got a workout biking all over Shinjuku procuring and administering a round of topical and oral treatments I got from a veterinarian. At night I came home exceptionally late but no sooner than I closed the door I heard a loud meowing outside. Sure enough, she was in the stairwell begging for dinner. I was happy to see her at night for the first time, because it meant I could give her the medicine again, but it wasn’t long before the least of my fans who lives at the end of the hall stuck her head out the door and gave me a hell of a razing. “The cat is filthy, it’s not my responsibility, I treat animals better than I do people, it’s a disgusting thing that doesn’t belong around here…” etc. The cat’s wound had opened up some more, though not completely. I figure it’s virtually impossible to get an animal to not stretch, prod and lick at a wound. Worrying for its health and safety (given the negative atmosphere developing around the building), I asked Mikiko to call one of the volunteer rescue services so she could be picked up and given attentive, professional care.
This morning I didn’t see or hear her on my way out, and so was left another unused dose of her medicine. I hope she finds a family soon.
The takeaway at this point is though I may be well-intentioned, I feel like I’ve handled this whole thing terribly. I probably should have gotten experienced help for her last weekend when I first noticed the injury. Good thing I’m not a doctor, or a parent.
