Doing the right thing is hard

On Tuesday we had to do something very sad.

As I think I've mentioned, the abusive neighbours had two cats that they seemed to look after, once upon a time. Then they kicked them both out the house. The poor animals were so confused. And the one was really sick. As in it couldn't breathe properly, was covered in scabs, had puss streaming out of its nose and eyes and was a walking bag of bones. The neighbour man told me that it had FIV (the feline version of HIV), which meant that not only would it not get better, but it might infect other cats.

So, as you've probably guessed by now, we took the poor thing to the SPCA and had it put down. It was the right thing to do, but it was really, really hard. I sat in the boot of my hatchback car, with the cat in an old laundry hamper. It struggled to breathe so much that every breath sounded like someone in the last stages of emphysema. And yet, even as it sat there, pitifully spewing mucous out of every orifice (sorry, that was graphic), it tried to cuddle up to my hand to get some love. My heart broke.

I bawled my eyes out the entire way there. Not because the cat was being put down, but because there are people in the world like my neighbours who can beat their child black and blue in the face and let the family pet get the point where it is needlessly enduring ongoing suffering.

Surely when you have children or you take on a pet you sign up for responsibility?

Anyway, by the time we got to the SPCA I had mascara smeared all over my face and could barely get the words out to explain to the SPCA staff what the situation was. All I could hear was that poor cat's laboured breathing. The lady told me that there was nothing we could do; it was too late for him. I knew that, but it was still really hard to know that the cat's last moments were spent in pain that could have been avoided.

Ok... waiting for tears to clear... sorry. I'm starting to think that this post was a bad idea.

But my point... Last night, the horrible man comes to our flat and asks if we've seen the cat. Why? Certainly not because he cares for it. He shouted at our other neighbours for trying to feed it once. He wants to know where it is because it's his. He wants to know where it is for the same reason he doesn't want his kid to be taken away - becuase he has power and control over it.

He disgusts me.

The kid's grandparents have arranged to fly out from the Ukraine to some and get him. I'm not sure what the legal process is, but I can't wait until that child is out of the sphere of his influence.