26/12/2024
After rescuing Lily in Kaplan, Louisiana, I was driving home on the interstate when I got a call from Christie asking if I could rescue a cat in a tree in Geismar. The cat was unknown and high in a tree on a large common area marking the entrance to a subdivision. I drove straight there, and Christie was waiting there for me when I arrived. She pointed to the tall Cypress tree in the distance, and I dropped my jaw when I saw a tiny speck of white pacing back and forth on the top limb about 80 feet high. The tree is larger than it appears in the picture. The cat was crying loudly and desperately for help, and the crying intensified as the cat noticed us walking toward her. She became so excited to see us focusing our attention on her that she began to try to climb down. She could not hold on to the tree very well and had to pull herself back up on the same limb, but she continued to be excited.
My plan was to install my rope on a sturdy limb about 20 feet below the cat and then work my way up to her. As I was focused on preparing my large slingshot and line to shoot over that limb in the tree, I heard Christie gasp. I looked up to see the blur of a small white ball falling through the tree and bouncing off one limb after another like a ball in a pinball machine before plopping down hard on the ground about ten feet from me. She had tried once again to come down head-first on her own but lost her footing and fell all the way to the ground. Standing there on the ground looking stunned was a kitten I guessed to be about seven weeks old. She was so much smaller on the ground than she appeared to be up high in the tree.
I have seen cats jump or fall from great heights many times, and each time the cat took off running as soon as he hit the ground. That is not a guarantee that the cat is uninjured, but it's a good sign. They can certainly be injured by a fall, but I have yet to see it happen, and I am amazed at how often it happens and how well the cats appear to survive it without harm. This kitten, however, did not run. She stood there still and dazed, but otherwise appeared to be fine. I was facing her but did not move toward her because I didn't want to scare her away. I spoke to her a minute to reassure her and then began to move slowly and indirectly toward her. When I was only a few feet away, she ran toward the base of the tree and tried to hide between two buttresses. I walked over there to her and could see that she had p**p hanging from her back end. She stood motionless there, clearly afraid, so I spent some calm time with her giving her some gentle pets until she began to relax. I picked up her tiny body, held her in my arms, and felt a strong emotional connection forming inside me while giving her more gentle pets until she was fully relaxed and felt safe.
Now that she felt safe with us, I put her down on the ground, and Christie tried to give her some food. She showed no interest in eating, probably due, I thought, to the stress of the moment and the physical trauma of the fall. She looked like she needed more time to recover, but I also wondered if she might have some physical injuries that we can't see. Christie had already agreed to take responsibility for the cat, and she had already arranged to take her to the local shelter, CARA's House, where they said they would have a veterinarian examine her. I confidently left her in Christie's care, packed my gear, and left feeling thankful for people like Christie who notice a cat in need, feel compassion for it, and go to the trouble to help it.
Christie took the kitten to CARA's House and learned that someone had called there earlier looking for a missing kitten that perfectly fit the description of this kitten. The owners came a short while later, claimed the kitten who they had named Marshmallow, and took her straight to their veterinarian. I was so happy to hear that, not only was Marshmallow seeing a veterinarian, but also that she was being reunited with her family. I felt good about this outcome, but without a connection with the owners, I would not be able to get any updates to this kitten's story, and I knew next to nothing about where she lived, how she escaped, or exactly how long she was in the tree.
During my waking moments of the next morning, I was thinking about this kitten and feeling a bit of worry about her condition. I thought about how she just stood there looking stunned when she landed on the ground, how she lost control of her bowel, her lack of interest in food, and her limited energy level once she felt safe on the ground. I felt troubled, and I felt regret that I did not take her to the veterinarian right away. In spite of my concerns, I assumed she was recovering well, and I was not prepared when I got a message from Christie a few hours later: Marshmallow died.
I felt as stunned as Marshmallow was when she landed so hard on the ground. I had no explanation and knew no details, but that didn't matter at this moment. The pain of that loss began to boil up inside me with more intensity than I could explain for a kitten I knew only 15 minutes. Why does this hurt so badly? Why am I crying so hard? She was just a small, furry ball of pure innocence. This is just wrong. She was only seven weeks old and spent two or three days of that being stuck in a tree. Such a sweet, young creature does not deserve a tragedy like this. Yet, tragedy happens. It always has and always will. Bad things can happen to good, innocent creatures, and that's a reality I often have trouble accepting. So, here I am facing this painful fact once again, this time, for an adorable kitten whose only fault was being born with the wrong natural instincts: one for climbing down the wrong way, and another for being impatient. If she had waited for me, I could have rescued her safely.
Christie and I both failed to get any close pictures of Marshmallow while we had her on the ground, but Christie did get one picture from the owner who was holding Marshmallow in her lap at the veterinarian's office just moments before she died. I don't know the details, but I assume she was euthanized because of severe internal injuries. I try not to look at this picture because it hurts too much, but it's the only picture I have of her other than the white dot in the tree.
One of the things I like most about what I do and the rescue stories I write is that it is almost always a feel-good story. You read the story, and you feel good about it. A cat gets stuck in a tree, the cat and owner are suffering, the cat gets rescued, everybody is safe and lives happily ever after. This is not one of those stories, and I debated about sharing it, especially during this Christmas season. On one hand, I did absolutely nothing to rescue her, I don't count it as a rescue and, therefore, have nothing to report. No one wants to read such a sad story anyway. On the other hand, it was a cat stuck in a tree, I was there, and this is an example of the potential for tragedy that is lurking under every case. I know this is not a fun story to read, but this is the rare, dark reality behind all the other stories that makes them feel so good, and I feel an obligation to be honest. I don't like it, but it's the truth.
Now when I say good-night to my own cat, I am thankful that no tragedy fell upon him today, and I remember poor Marshmallow who reminds me that life is not fair and tomorrow can't be taken for granted.