This hasn't been a good day. I threw up this morning, still apparently under seige from the concert-killing virus. I didn't sleep. I wasn't even going to go to work, but then I did, for some reason. And when I pulled out of my garage, and waved goodbye to Sarah, I saw a shocked expression on her face. Turning to where she was pointing, I was stunned to see a small tabby kitten lying motionless on the driveway. I thought either Sarah or I had run it over. But when I went to inspect him, I saw that (thankfully) wasn't the case.

But nevertheless, the poor guy was in bad shape. He was "agony breathing" (that is, slow painful breathing) and he wasn't moving. Sarah put him on a towel and used a syringe to try and give him some water while she pet him gently. Meanwhile, I got on the phone with the SPCA, who I'm sad to say were no help at all. I couldn't get ahold of anybody. So instead I called the vet who treats Brumby.

Thinking that the SPCA wasn't going to call back, we decided to take him to the vet ourselves. Sarah was optimistic, but I wasn't. He didn't look good at all. It was obvious he had been lost and trapped in the wilds of suburban Pinellas Park. He'd have been better off in the wilds of some forest, because there is very little water, food, or shelter to be found in the suburbs.

So anyway, the Vet assistant said he would most likely die at any minute and that we could either euthanize him or pay them a whole lot of money to try and save him. I thought it was a little ass-y to put that burden of choice on us. After all, he wasn't our cat - we merely found him. I was willing to adopt him if he lived, but I can't sink God-knows-how-much money into saving an animal I don't even own who has slim prospects for survival. It wasn't really a choice. I told her we didn't have the money to try and help him, meaning that they would resort to the default option of euthanasia.

So I assume our little orange friend is no longering suffering. I was glad to have known him for a brief moment, and hopefully we gave him some measure of comfort in his last minutes. Better luck in your next life, my friend. We won't forget you.