Early Morning Heartbreak

At about 2:30 a.m. I was awakened by a mournful cry from a seemingly lost outside kitty. It woke all of our babycats, who then milled around our bedroom trying to suss the location of the little meow. It lasted more than an hour.

Gizzie, my compassionate helpful boy, came to me, put his little paws around my neck and nuzzled my throat as hard as he could. It was heartbreaking. He and I cried together.

I know. I’m a crippled old lady. I would never be able to find this little cat. We wouldn’t have been able to take care of another one, either. Tigger, as loving as he is with our current babies, uses his head logically.

I, on the other hand, seem to be overloaded with excessive compassion, I guess. This is very similar to how I felt all those years working with both war-torn victims in the Balkans and the homeless in Iowa.

I cried a lot then, too.

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