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Kitten provides a cure for compassion fatigue The public shelters don't accept pets so maybe it's up to us to help out
By Deborah Taylor-Hollis
I don't give money to panhandlers. I see those guys out at the traffic lights, and I just know that they are pulling in over $100 a day--and even if they weren't making the kind of money reported on NBC News and 60 Minutes, they are still better off getting a haircut and a job. In our market, McDonalds will apparently hire anyone who is upright and won't drool in the secret sauce.
I don't usually even acknowledge panhandlers. I make my giving to agencies that help those willing to help themselves, especially people with children. But sometimes fate starts telegraphing like crazy right up your pole.
I'm coming out of a Walgreen's on a mission for batteries and there's this guy just sitting there, barely out of the rain. He's got a big hat on, and a huge beard, and a small sign asking for help and blessing anyone who can read. He's unremarkable in the cold, except for the cat. His pet is on a nice leash, eating out of a can of cat food next to him. His kitten apparently has more than the man, and not just food--the kitten has a home. The man is leaning on a nice used cat carrier, with a door and nice, clean-looking bedding inside. The cat is healthy and happy, even out in the wind late at night. The cat is loved.
Which is probably why the panhandler is not in a shelter. You see, no public dormitory will take pets, and no matter how much your sanity hinges on having just one loving being in your life, they will refuse you entrance if you don't let the pet loose before you come inside from the storm.
I get in the car, turn on the lights--and then get out and give the guy a dollar, and pull away as the radio plays Dylan: "You say how are you, good luck/but you don't mean it." And I get kinda haunted.
As I drive to the next store, I start hearing a conversation I had with relatives last year as they sat in their $400K new home in Los Angeles and talked about how luck had nothing to do with their financial successes. They never had a catastrophic illness befall them, and mental health problems are not theirs. They talked about how much they do for charity, but then said, "The poor will always be with us," explaining that since we can't help the homeless, we should "just ignore them." And Dylan is singing, "You have no faith to lose/and you know it."It's still raining when I get to Rite Aid, and I find the batteries I want, and the image of that guy tending his kitten rather than himself runs around in my head with the mantra's from the '60s and the apathy from the '90s and the next thing I know, I'm down the food aisle, picking up cans of precooked meat, apple sauce, six-pack breakfast bars--and three cans of cat food. Then I throw in a travel pack of toothbrush and paste and some mouthwash for good measure and pay for the whole thing. And drive back to Walgreen's.
I can't justify any of it--he may well sell it all for drugs, or he may want cash only, or he may hate Vienna sausages. But I remember something I heard once: "A long time ago, he was somebody's baby." A bundle of love and sweet breath with shining hopes and toddling feet. And now, whatever the problem, he's sitting out in the cold with his cat. So I just walk back up and hand him the bag, saying "I know how hard shopping is with a pet," and get back in the car.
"Give a little bit/give a little bit of your time to me," is on the radio, and I'm still feeling guilty, like I want to save the guy some more--find him a bed, get his cat shots--thinking I should have bought some soap too, and maybe some vegetables. And I could go on and on and on, but this isn't a mission I'm running, it's a life. And it's raining, and all that youthful promise about changing the world doesn't seem so easy after 40 and two wars and a mortgage and another long day fighting traffic. And I can't get rid of the guilt at being lucky enough to go home to a warm house and a healthy family.
Maybe I shouldn't want to. Maybe a healthy dose of guilt is all that's keeping me on the good side of heaven. Maybe it's just too hard for an animal lover to pass up something like a well-kept animal being loved by someone who can't even keep a roof over his head on a cold winter night.
Deborah Taylor-Hollis can be contacted at DTHollis@metronews.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
