Big Nose Kate kitty made it. Angel Eyes didn’t. When I went back to take him to the vet for his shots the owner said he’d died. Diarrhea and a runny nose. It’s hard not to feel angry. These people have a 4WD sitting in the ground floor of their rickety slum house. The credit payments are probably costing more than their wages. But still, they care about the car. It gleams, and they do somehow find the money to keep it and pay for petrol. But they don’t find the money to take a sick cat to the vet.

Five new young kittens were crawling around my feet when I went to look for Angel Eyes. Just ready to go out and get run over, drink from the swamp, drown, catch something from all the other unvaccinated animals in the street, etc. When I saw them, I had a feeling that surprised me. I didn’t care too much about them. Because the one that I’d tried to save had died, an inner switch moved with shameful speed to the “off” position. It was the classic cliche of not wanting to care so as to avoid future distress - not a failure of compassion, but a failure of courage. I was shocked at how fast it happened. Not a nice thing to learn about myself. But at least I could understand why the owners - seemingly - don’t care about their pets. They must be thoroughly used to seeing animals die - and probably people, too. Perhaps (for most of us?) the heart doesn’t have to bleed very much before the self-protective instinct arranges a firm tourniquet and the mind comes up with comforting thoughts like heaven and reincarnation, and, hey, why not, the Heaviside Layer full of Evanjellicle cats.

I hope that if I see another transportable animal with an obvious injury I will take it to the vet. But I have a bad feeling that I’m going to avoid that street for a while. Moral fibre rating of a jelly donut.