Cats With Hands

Purrpal

On the evening of October 8, 2003, our shelter got a call from someone needing help catching a cat who had been shot with an arrow. I was working my usual weekly shift and, of course, stopped what I was doing and rushed over.

The cat was one of a feral colony not far from the shelter, located in a bad neighborhood. I got out of my car with a small carrier and was directed to where the cat was. I was not prepared for what I saw. It was not a cat, it was only a kitten, about 6 months old and a 3-foot arrow was sticking through his head! The kitten, huddled under a bush, looked up at me and hissed. I could not believe he was alive - one eye was closed or missing; blood was all over his face. I reached down to grab him, thinking he’d be too weak to resist; was I wrong! The kitten took off and ran to the back of the house.

This house apparently was vacant and the back yard was filled with junked autos and trash. By now, I was crying. I had to get that kitten, so he could be put to sleep to end the pain he was surely feeling. But where did he go? I searched all over. There was so much junk in that yard. Adding to that difficulty, it was getting dark fast and I had no flashlight.

Shortly afterwards, an officer from the SPCA arrived (with a flashlight, thankfully), and we searched all over. I looked under the cars, under bushes, under piles of lumber. I lifted tarps covering who knows what. For over an hour, we searched and, by this time, another shelter volunteer had arrived to help.

It was now very dark and I was in despair. I had to return to the shelter to finish the work I had to do there. The others would return in daylight to resume the search. But once I got back to the shelter, I found it impossible to concentrate was crying uncontrollably. That poor kitten! His little bloody face, with the arrow through its side, looking up at me, hissing. I was haunted by this.

I later returned home but didn't sleep at all that night. I only thought of that poor kitten and prayed that he would die and his pain would be over. The next morning, I went to work. I didn’t want to help look for him. Surely he’d be dead by now and I couldn’t face that.

Around eleven o’clock, the shelter manager called. They found him and he was alive! The SPCA was taking him to the vet that moment. A few hours later, she called back and said he was going to make it! They removed the arrow and, other than a bad infection, he was okay! I could not believe it! I went to the vet’s to visit the kitten that evening, straight from work. The poor thing was so frightened, huddled in the cage, facing the back wall. He hissed half-heartedly as I gently petted him.

I visited him every day that first week. For a few days, he wouldn’t eat; finally, I was able to coax him with baby food. Then, little by little, I gained his trust. In about two weeks he was ready to go home. Of course, by then I was irretrievably attached to him. He recuperated in a playpen - separate quarters from my cats. He was still feral and I had to be slow and patient with him.

Now, I had to find a special name for this little guy! I wanted to give him an appropriate name. Someone pointed me to a website with baby names. I found the name “Cormac”, which is of Irish origin and means “brave”. A fitting name for a very brave kitty!

Today, Cormac is very happy and healthy. The arrow had apparently only pierced his skin, missing his skull. He is very good natured, and loves to play with the other cats. Cormac (or “Mackie”) also allows me to pick him up; he is so lovable. Cormac is very lucky, but so am I for being able to have him in my home.

There was an old Hotmail address for "Purrpal" on the website where I found this story, but it bounced and I couldn't find any clue to her identity or how to reach her. I think she is, or was, in Cincinnati, Ohio.