Dumpling .:PatchouliMoonsong:.

Where I work, there is a small group of feral cats that live in the field beyond the parking lot. I refer to them as the itty bitty kitty committee. We feed them. They've even become close to a select few of us.

Last May, the sweetest little crybaby was born. Her name was Dumpling. Her mother is so docile, she didn't care if I held her babies, and I did. I held Dumpling and her currently missing sibling Pepper. I remember how small she was, so soft her little bean toes felt, how she cried for her mommy because this big, strange furless thing was holding her.

Recently, she became ill. It didn't seem serious at first, just a little cold. I was recommended to give her these drops in her food by a few cat owners, telling me they'd work just as well as antibiotics. At first, it seemed like she was doing better, but then she got worse. That's when I knew I had to do something. I borrowed a carrier from one of my coworkers and I scooped her up yesterday and took her to the vet. I remember so clearly telling her, "Are you ready to go to the vet, baby? They're going to make you all better!"

They took her in the back right away. One of them came back to the front to tell me she's not doing good. She's actively dying on them. She needed CPR. What did I want to do? Without missing a beat, I told them to resuscitate her. I didn't care about how much it cost. I loved her and she loved me. How does money even come into the equation? 

Maybe it seems stupid, childish even, going out of the way for a feral cat, and I guess I understand it in a way, but I don't look at things like that. When I love somebody, what they are never falls into the equation. I would put the same effort into a stray as I would any human because at the end of the day, we are all living, feelings beings that just want to be loved and cared for. Why should species make any difference? 

Then a man came to me. He was very clinical. Nonchalant. "She's dead," he told me, with the same level of care as one would about the weather. That was all. "She's dead." As if there was nothing to it. As if my heart hadn't just shattered into a million pieces. He made me feel so guilty, when he asked how long she'd been sick. I knew it was coming. I had even braced myself for it before I came in. Normally, people don't bring feral cats to the vet. They bring their beloved pets. Of course they would assume Dumpling was my pet. Of course they would assume I just left her like that and didn't bother bringing her in until she was already dying. Of course he would look at me the way he did: like I was a fool. A disgusting, neglegent fool. I would lying if I said I did not shoulder any of that responsibility. I should have brought her in sooner. I shouldn't have assumed it was just a nasty cold. I shouldn't have taken the advice of others. I can't blame anyone but myself. I let Dumpling down in a way I never thought I would, and now I have to live with that.

I felt so ashamed on the way out the door. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. We were supposed to leave together, happy, and she would get better. Not me carrying her limp form out in a bodybag.

I buried her in the field where she was born and I hugged her one last time before I put her in the ground. We hugged just that morning. It wasn't supposed to be this way. That wasn't supposed to be our last hug. When I finally accumulated enough money for my own cat-friendly home, I was going to adopt them all and they would live long, happy lives in comfort and never be sick or hurt again.

Later at work, I looked on the security feed out of habit, because I could always see Dumpling in the back waiting for me, and I said, "Oooh, I wonder where Dumpling is?" Then it hit me. She wasn't there waiting, and she never will be again. 

But now Dumpling has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She doesn't have to suffer anymore and I just have to keep telling myself that's the important thing. She's not suffering anymore.

I don't want to end this on a sad note. Instead, I want to recount the good things. I was the first one she let pet her when she was older. I was the first one she hugged. I was the first human she ever loved and she loved me so much, I could see it in her big yellow eyes whenever she looked up at me.

I would say, "Where the Dubbie at?" when I couldn't find her and she'd pop out of her hiding spot. I would go, "It's a Dubbie!" and she would give me hugs, during which I would singsong to her, "How are yew? How are yewwww?" She would always wait by the back door for me, because she knew I would come to feed her and hug her. No matter what the weather was like, she would be there, and I would spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour after my shift ended sitting out there with her, sometimes sharing my leftovers with her.

She looked like a little werewolf, all fluffy and grey. And her nose, she had black fur around it, which gave it the illusion of being bigger and rounder like a dog's. And she had the longest meow I've ever heard. She'd come up to me and just go "meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew." I swear, if I contacted the Guinness Book of World Records, she would've won the spot for longest meow. 

I love you, Dumpling. 

Show all stories by   Author:  66755 ( Click here )