days redeemed

...and the thing I missed, when I came home last night drunk on music and fine cuisine, was a call from my aunt Susan asking me (the family rescue expert, it seems) for help. She and my uncle Marty found a tiny kitten hiding in the grass near the freeway when they were out walking. His eye was goopy, and he scratched the hell out of her when she picked him up to put him in a carrier to take him home.

A trip to the vet revealed that little Max had a great deal of trauma, all on the same side of his body. In fact, his injuries are consistent with being thrown off the freeway. His eye will have to be removed, and his leg will need mending. Poor thing -- I hate people sometimes.

In fact, there's been someone here in town throwing kittens off the upper-deck of I-35. True sociopathy, if you ask me. I mean, if you're just trying to get rid of a cat, you can take it to someone's house. You don't leave it on a freeway fifty feet from the ground.

So I sent a note to the rescue group I work with, telling them about this little kitten and asking for help finding him a foster home. It took seven minutes to get four replies, one of which offered the home, if the surgery could be done before that. And several people offered to contribute money.

And it all goes to show how funny life can be -- how you can oscillate between hating and loving mankind, being awestruck by both its cruelty and its kindness.

What a juxtaposition that is.