What really matters
It was a typical morning. I stood in the kitchen with my bare feet on the cool, bamboo flooring, preparing the morning breakfast for the cats. Stanley stands up on his hind legs, reaches his paws just under my night shirt touching my left knee cap and with a little squeak of a meow, he lets me know that I am working too slow. I look down to see Patches sitting next to Stanley just staring at me and Maxie is sitting on the stool next to the breakfast bar patiently awaiting her bowl. They are my rescue family.
Ed has prepared his morning coffee and is in the recliner watching the news. From the living room I hear, " 52, 38, 19 or 5. It don't matter how old you is. Bullets don't care", a man's voice tells the reporter on the scene where another child has been shot in Baltimore city. Since January 1, 2022, there have been 40 homicides and 49 non-fatal shootings. Just this week three children have been shot in 2 separate incidents. Another day, another life ended.
I finish giving everybody their dish of BFF and proceed to the screened in deck to put the cans in the recycle bin. As I open the door, a cold wind blows my shirt. The deck carpeting is cold on my bare feet. The sun is just starting to brighten the horizon and a red-orange glow fills the sky. I watch the birds in the tree 50 feet from the deck, they take turns flying to the almost empty bird feeder. The neighbor is smoking on his deck and yells good morning. "are you feeding the birds again?"
"Good Morning, Yup."
He mumbles something inaudible and walks into his townhouse. Just a couple of weeks ago we had a discussion about birds, mice in the garden and him wanting to poison everything that moves. I reminded him that his dog and children could get harmed by his actions. He wasn't happy then either.
I walk back inside and barely have enough time to pour myself some orange juice before my phone starts buzzing. One of the colony caregivers had been talking to a security person at the garage where we feed the cats. There is a little one there on the second level and had been there for three weeks or so. " It just stands in the corner, crying and it's going to get hit".
"IT", this kitty is a living thing, not an IT. After I stop mumbling under my breath, I walk upstairs, pull on some sweats and out the door I go. The kitty is curled up in a corner when I arrive and runs up to my car. I scruff her, she purrs. I wrap my arms around her and put her into the carrier that is always in the backseat. When I get home, the microchip scanner beeps and displays the 15 digits.
When the owner calls back, she explains that they adopted the cat for their children when she was a kitten but now, almost a year later, the kids have lost interest so they gave her away and now she is here, in a busy parking garage, to fend for herself in 10 degree weather.
Sometimes I believe that I am the only person who cares about something, not just myself. All life, whether it is human, furry, scaly, feathery or has leaves. The Earth and all the creatures are what really matter otherwise, we are just killing ourselves.