Winky the Blind Kitty

This little sweetie is Winky. She’s missing one eye and the other doesn’t see. She’s a young one, new to her disability and very frightened. As of this post, she’s at the Long Island Save-A-Pet.

Yesterday I took my daughter there and we handed out quilted and crochet blankets I had made.

My friend/SAP Volunteer who drove us there got this little girl out of her cage. She was so afraid that she was a fluffy lump in her bed, unmoving and uncaring. When my friend brought her out of the cage, her legs were fully pulled up, tail curled under.

She was a lost soul and I could see it. She had given up. There was no joy normally present in a kitty. There was no life in her.

I spent about two hours with this scared baby in my arms. She was so afraid she curled up in my arms and lay her head down and wouldn’t budge. My friend had been concerned she was going to try to jump out and onto the floor, but I knew she wasn’t going to go anywhere. She couldn’t see the floor to know how far down it was. She didn’t know what the room looked like to know where to run and hide. No, she wasn’t going to be going anywhere.

With the last crocheted blanket over her and my arms around her, we sat on a bench for a good fifteen minutes to half an hour while my daughter petted her face and head and talked to her. Then I started walking around with her so she could hear different rooms and smell other animals. Those ears slowly started turning this way and that. Eventually the head perked up when she heard a voice she knew, so we went to that person to say hello.

Whichever way her head turned, that was the direction we walked. We smelled numerous other kitties, but they were mostly all sleeping. It was ticky nap time.

I went to the front entry where there was another bench and sat. Within seconds, the head was up and the ears were moving and that nose was-a-goin’!

WINDOW!!!

She knew what a window was, and actively listened to the cars and sniffed and sniffed at the cool air wafting in (it had started to snow on Long Island), and turned her head toward the door whenever someone came in. She remembered there was life outside that lonely cage.

She made no motion to leave my arms but did adjust herself a couple times, pulling herself a little higher over my elbow. I was happy she did that much. Would have been delighted if she’d tried to jump down, or even just purred. But…another day. Recovery happens in baby steps and just perking her ears to actively listen and turning her head to notice noises and be interested in them was huge enough for one day.

When it came time we had to leave, she went back into her cage…and straight to the blanket my friend/SAP Volunteer had put in first. It had her scent on it. My scent as well. Familiar and comforting and hers.

When I checked on her a few minutes later, and took a minute of video, her head was still up, her ears were still up. She was so markedly better that my heart was glad for her.

Sometimes, saving a soul isn’t about throwing money at a shelter. Sometimes it’s being held close to feel the warmth and heartbeat of another animal. Sometimes it’s just being held firmly and kissed and talked to and shown familiar things.

Sometimes, it’s just knowing you’re really not alone.