Stella’s broken jaw is almost healed now, one cannot see where her stitches were nowadays, where her baby chin had the hide completely ripped-off. Her little front right leg is still paralyzed but she digs in her sandbox just fine; the Vet says she might need to have the whole leg amputated, we’re hoping not. All this in just six weeks of life on planet Earth.
Here’s how Stella and our lives converged one day on an obscure mile long road in Southwest Houston, littered with four Islamic compounds.
I always try to straddle road kill rather than to smear blood and guts on my cars undercarriage, plus as an animal lover, I think it at least a decent act to have a body to retrieve from the blacktop, not a smear of a family’s loved member.
Looking ahead some 30 yards I see a black blob in the center of the lane I’m in, the said blob is either trash or roadkill and will be easy to pass over. Unfortunately, within 30 feet of my flyover, what is now being recognized as roadkill and not trash, raised its wobbly black and white head just as I zoomed past. Animal rescuing is in my blood and I have passed this disease on to my children. As my 29 year old daughter and I realize what we just saw, she starts to cry, while I moan. Because I know I’m going back around the road divider to get little tiny whatever out of the road. The whole time I’m watching my rear-view mirror for other vehicles who may not be as kind as I.
That day on that road was a rare lightly traveled time, very unusual. Once I made the U turn to head back to the wobbly black and white mess it seemed an eternity before I reached its location, again not one car in sight on either side of this four lane road, what a miracle. Yep, there it is, its head still lifted and then falling and lifted again, its sprawled with all fours clearly defined. Out of my running-hot SUV I fly to the side of titty-bitty little kitty. I never knew cats made noises other than meow or hissing, yet this little one is moaning in such a girly way, obviously surprised and shocked by the slap of tire she took. Little flecks of blood sprinkled around her tiny body, yet she was fully intact. Up off the blacktop and into my lap and back to my car we went, all within just a few seconds before we were surrounded by cars on all four of both the north and south bound lanes.
So now what? Home we go, it was discovered that we had some left-over cat painkillers from having our many cats spayed and neutered. So we medicated this little baby in hopes of healing its pain or killing her kindly overnight. And if that didn’t work, it was determined that dad would have to shoot her in the morning (we have enough vet visits from our huge menagerie.)
Well, little Stella (first named Rhonda, for fighter Rhonda Rouse) was still with us the next morning, yet looking just as bad as she had when first discovered, unable to walk, wobbly head and moaning. Long story short, my daughters called around and did a shout out on FB for help; my other daughter has a friend who is a real softy. He knew a vet personally and he would pick up the bill that she would discount for him.
Awesome, we didn’t have to shoot little kitty after all. A few weeks later, after Stella’s release from the hospital she now knows no lack and lives with Dave (the softy) in the lap of love and luxury; we have visitation rights though.
So even with so many important issues to write on, everything from A to Z, Obama and our government woes, the Middle East debacle, 9-11 Remembrance and our upcoming elections – sometimes it is good food for the soul to take time and consider the little things in life.