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Nov. 17th, 2015 02:21 pmOh dear. I should’ve pretended I wasn’t home when my neighbour knocked on my door on Remembrance Day, carrying that pathetic bag of bones in her arms. If I’d known what was coming, I would’ve done so.
Harlequin has not been euthanized after all. I emailed the SPCA this morning to offer to put $100 towards her treatment in between Neighbour bringing her in and her owner washing her hands of her, and to thank them for looking after her when her owner wouldn’t. My assumption was that they’d euthanized her, because she seemed at death’s door when she was with me overnight. Apparently getting actual veterinary care for the first time in several YEARS did her a world of good and they think she’s on the road to recovery.
This is a disaster of epic proportions. I should have just gone on assuming she’d been put down, and not tried to confirm it. I do not need another cat. I especially don’t need an elderly, FIV-positive cat who will be totally uninsurable. No matter how sweet her disposition is, and how she ignored YMW’s temper tantrum when she appeared. If I adopted her, she’d cost me money, and probably have to be put down within a few years anyway, thus breaking my heart. YMW would probably sulk for weeks on end before learning to live with her. And I’d have to scoop the cat litter twice as often.
I kept my own counsel with the nice lady at the SPCA, and did not blurt out, “Well, when she’s finished recuperating, if you put her up for adoption, give me a call.” But it took an effort not to say it.
Harlequin has not been euthanized after all. I emailed the SPCA this morning to offer to put $100 towards her treatment in between Neighbour bringing her in and her owner washing her hands of her, and to thank them for looking after her when her owner wouldn’t. My assumption was that they’d euthanized her, because she seemed at death’s door when she was with me overnight. Apparently getting actual veterinary care for the first time in several YEARS did her a world of good and they think she’s on the road to recovery.
This is a disaster of epic proportions. I should have just gone on assuming she’d been put down, and not tried to confirm it. I do not need another cat. I especially don’t need an elderly, FIV-positive cat who will be totally uninsurable. No matter how sweet her disposition is, and how she ignored YMW’s temper tantrum when she appeared. If I adopted her, she’d cost me money, and probably have to be put down within a few years anyway, thus breaking my heart. YMW would probably sulk for weeks on end before learning to live with her. And I’d have to scoop the cat litter twice as often.
I kept my own counsel with the nice lady at the SPCA, and did not blurt out, “Well, when she’s finished recuperating, if you put her up for adoption, give me a call.” But it took an effort not to say it.
