This shouldn't even happen to a dog.
Or a cat.
We now have a furry friend to call our own. A furry little Ragdoll kitten we have christened Angel, 'cause she IS that ... and so much more.
It all started several months back, when the weather was still coolish outside and cold in the mornings. I happened to be walking (as I do every morning) when I heard what sounded like a baby crying weakly. It was coming from one of the Dumpsters I passed by.
I had thought I had heard this same noise before, but I wasn't sure. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Yet today, my "curious got the better part of me", so I decided to investigate.
When I'd gone by this particular Dumpster, I was surprised to hear the same high mewling noise all over again. When I stopped in to look, the noise only got louder and more insistent.
Upon looking in the Dumpster (once I could get past the nauseating, sour smell of rotting garbage, that is), I was shocked to see two sapphire-blue eyes peeking out from underneath a greasy, black banana peel.
Something small was in there.
And it was ALIVE.
Trembling, I pinched my nose closed as I reached into the Dumpster and scooped up the trembling, soaked bundle of fur. I was doing all I could to keep from throwing up my Starbucks and bagel all over the place (it wasn't easy, but I'd managed to keep everything down!).
It was a kitten. A very teeny, tiny kitten, one that couldn't have been more than a few months (or perhaps weeks) old. My heart broke and shattered beside my feet.
Whoever had had this kitten before apparently didn't want to bother with it, so they inadvertantly threw it out with the trash. The kitten had been surviving for all this time, probably eating rotten garbage, and finding a warm place to sleep, probably drinking dew as a means of moisture. It was in pretty rough shape. It was pitifully scrawny.
I started crying as I cradled the fragile, filthy bundle of fur against my chest. The crying helped slake the nausea somewhat (but not by much; I still couldn't believe I'd actually reached into a nasty Dumpster, I kept reminding myeslf). I then walked quickly to the small animal clinic which happened to be near where I was at that particular time.
Talk about perfect timing!
A veterinarian who happened to have the same sympatheitc nature as I took it upon himself to examine the now-screaming kitten. Surprisingly enough, other than being somewhat malnourished and extremely dirty, the kitten was pronounced in fine health. It had fleas, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be taken care of, he reassured me. The kitten was 12 weeks old; what kind it was was yet to be determined. A bath would probably reveal the kitten's true colors: right now it was a dirty, slate-grey color.
I then went on my merry way as the doctor tended to the kitten.
I couldn't get that small kitten out of my mind. No matter what I did or what time of day it was, the kitten remained on my mind. One day it got particularly bothersome, so I walked back to the small animal hospital, to see if the kitten was still there. Surprisingly, it was, but I was in for a shock: the kitten was not grey, but a beautiful shade of cremy-white with darker ears, tail, and muzzle, and four delicate snow-white paws, plus a blaze of white on its chest. The eyes were as blue and as vivid as ever.
And it was a female. A female Ragdoll, one of the most popular cat breeds in the world.
I told the good doctor who'd taken care of the kitten that I wanted it. I had been looking for a kitten to call my own for weeks, but somehow, I couldn't find the right choice. I told him I had the cat supplies and food, and I would be more than willing to take it into my home and care for it and give it plenty of love.
So this was how I ended up with a cat. She's been a joy ever since. And guess what I named her: Angel. She was brought into my life by God's loving ways, and in honor of that, I named my furry baby Angel, which describes her perfectly. She is the "purr"fect pet, the best little (feline) friend I could have ever hoped ... or asked ... for!