Here, kitty kitty

So I am a huge sucker for animals. Especially if they're small. Especially if they're hurt. ESPECIALLY if they're small AND hurt.

This has gotten me into trouble before. Like the time a couple of years ago when I was driving back to Kansas City from Manhattan and saw what I thought was a litter of kittens on the side of the road. I stopped to investigate, thinking that I would load the tiny, helpless, mewling creatures into my car and drop them off at the no-kill shelter, thus saving their lives and providing several area families with the Perfect Pet.

It turns out that when one is driving 70 mph at night, it is fairly easy to mistake a group of baby possums for a litter of kittens. And possums do not take kindly to the idea of being bundled into the car and taken to the shelter.

I was out running this morning and saw a bedraggled black-and-white cat limping along the sidewalk. You know where this is going, don't you?

I approached him, crooning, "Here, kitty kitty..." trying with all my might to look like a friendly cat-lover, one who had pockets full of tuna and catnip. I just wanted to HELP him.

I'm not really used to being around cats, but I'm guessing that flattened ears and hissing means that they probably don't want to be approached.

Because I did not feel like explaining to either Andrew or my mother why I came home from this particular run looking like a scratching post, and also because I'm fairly sure that a series of rabies shots can't be added to the gift registry, I abandoned this particular mission.

But I still hope the little guy finds his way home safely, and that there's tuna waiting for him, and that someone will fix his hurt paw.