ghostntheshell
Well-Known Member
I didn't want to steal any of GLB's thunder with his kitten story, but this made me want to share my story too:
Last winter, I was working a short stint in a fly-in-only native reserve called Pikangikum. The reserve is a depressing place. It has the highest suicide rate in the world. It is literally third world living conditions. No running water. No plumbing. Murder, rape, suicide, drug abuse, self abuse, sexual abuse is rampant.
Late one evening while driving on a snow road, I saw a pick up truck parked on the right of the road. I could see two wild dogs circling and barking at the base of the truck, obviously interested in what was under it.
In Pikangikum, the wild dogs pack up, and when they gain confidence, they will attack humans. I saw it personally. They have to kill them every so many months, but they always seem to come back.
I could see a small tail hanging from the rear axle of the pick up truck. My first thought was that the owner of the truck had run over a cat, and the dogs wanted to eat it. However, upon closer inspection, I could see the small tail moving. I got out of the truck and rushed the dogs away. They did leave - but stood close by as their interest was in the small cat under the truck and the possibility of an easy meal.
As I approached the truck, I could hear a small voice. Barely a meow - but enough so that I took my flashlight out, and slid underneath the truck on my back to get a closer look. Sure enough I saw a small cat, just a little older than a kitten, hanging for dear life on the trucks axle. I could see her visibly shaking, no doubt injured and scared for it's life.
I reached out and pulled the little lady cat from her spot on the axle. She increased her meow to a howl, as no doubt she likely thought I too would be making a meal out of her. I slid up from under the truck, and held her in the high beams of my truck. She stopped her meowing and just kind of looked around. I walked over to the hood of my truck and set her down for a closer look at her. I soon realized she couldn't stand on her hind legs. She tried hard - but something wasn't as it should be.
My co-worker suggested taking her into the bush and ending her life quickly, as there is no veterinary services on the reserve. They barely have a nurses station, let alone a doctor.
I thought about it.
Perhaps this would be the humane thing to do, as there wasn't much I could do for her. I wouldn't be returning home for another 3 days.
I then thought about it from a different perspective. This small cat had obviously sustained an injury by getting hit by the truck and managed to survive. The cat then managed to get up onto the axle, while injured, when presented with the two hungry wild dogs - and survived. The cat was born into the worst possible situation, in the worst place in Canada in the dead of a real Canadian winter. I couldn't justify ending her life after the whole ordeal she had survived, and made a decision that I would attempt to fly her home with me, and see a vet. If she could survive long enough.
I found a plastic milk crate and lined it with a towel. I made a cardboard roof to secure the top and lined it with a garbage bag in case she had to go to the bathroom when I wasn't there.
She took to her new home immediately. She was visibly content now. She would purr when you pet her, and would make a quiet little meow when you opened her small milk crate and peaked in.
After a day, she began to eat. She would only eat from a spoon though, as moving around on her injured hind legs wasn't exactly easy for her.
I fed her salmon I mushed up with my fingers with water, so she wouldn't have to chew it. The water would be good for her too, even if she wasn't lapping it up.
For the next three days her spirits improved immensely and she was now interested in being social, however limited by her hind legs. Her appetite increased and she would anxiously await her salmon mush and gulp it down for as long as I would feed her.
The day came when it was time to return home to Ontario. Our small bush plane was packed to the ceiling, and there was no room for her milk crate. So I put the crate on my lap. Not exactly comfortable in the cramped quarters, but I hadn't brought her this far to leave her in the hole known as Pikangikum.
Upon arriving home late in the evening, my sweet lady's curiosity was getting the better of her. She made an effort and stood up. She looked at me, with her paws on the side of the milk crate, up on her hinds to take a peak at her new home. This would not last, as he was unstable, wobbled and against her control fell over to the side. I also noticed she had not gone to the washroom yet. This was three days with no bathroom break - and for a kitty - that's way too long. I decided she would visit the vet first thing in the morning.
Upon walking in the vets office, I was greeted by a receptionist who took my details. I went over the little lady's long story with her, and she asked me to name her, as she required a name for her paperwork. "Pikangikitty" was what I had come up with, and she would be spending the night with the Vet so she could be properly assessed.
I received a phone call the next day. They wanted me to come in to discuss Pikangikittiy's options. As much as I had hoped and prayed that the matter be something simple, I had the feeling it wouldn't be so easy. The vet advised she was quite the fighter, as she was dealing with a fractured pelvis - in three separate locations. The vet advised as a result, she had suffered some nerve damage and would not be able to function properly with her bathroom needs.
The options soon narrowed down to me making the final decision to have her put to sleep, as they say. Her chance for survival as a cat just wasn't in the cards for her. She would eventually die of toxic shock, weather it be a few weeks or a month. It wouldn't be a suiting end for my little lady, after all she had been through. She had such a personality, even through her injuries. I swallowed the cost of the vet. I was happy knowing I didn't let her die as dog food in the black hole known as Pikangikum.
I couldn't bear to be in the room for the final minutes while the vet injected her, but my girlfriend, who had been helping me with Pikangikitty did this for me. She stayed with her, petting her. From what she tells me, Pikangikitty purred until she closed her eyes and went silent.
Last winter, I was working a short stint in a fly-in-only native reserve called Pikangikum. The reserve is a depressing place. It has the highest suicide rate in the world. It is literally third world living conditions. No running water. No plumbing. Murder, rape, suicide, drug abuse, self abuse, sexual abuse is rampant.
Late one evening while driving on a snow road, I saw a pick up truck parked on the right of the road. I could see two wild dogs circling and barking at the base of the truck, obviously interested in what was under it.
In Pikangikum, the wild dogs pack up, and when they gain confidence, they will attack humans. I saw it personally. They have to kill them every so many months, but they always seem to come back.
I could see a small tail hanging from the rear axle of the pick up truck. My first thought was that the owner of the truck had run over a cat, and the dogs wanted to eat it. However, upon closer inspection, I could see the small tail moving. I got out of the truck and rushed the dogs away. They did leave - but stood close by as their interest was in the small cat under the truck and the possibility of an easy meal.
As I approached the truck, I could hear a small voice. Barely a meow - but enough so that I took my flashlight out, and slid underneath the truck on my back to get a closer look. Sure enough I saw a small cat, just a little older than a kitten, hanging for dear life on the trucks axle. I could see her visibly shaking, no doubt injured and scared for it's life.
I reached out and pulled the little lady cat from her spot on the axle. She increased her meow to a howl, as no doubt she likely thought I too would be making a meal out of her. I slid up from under the truck, and held her in the high beams of my truck. She stopped her meowing and just kind of looked around. I walked over to the hood of my truck and set her down for a closer look at her. I soon realized she couldn't stand on her hind legs. She tried hard - but something wasn't as it should be.
My co-worker suggested taking her into the bush and ending her life quickly, as there is no veterinary services on the reserve. They barely have a nurses station, let alone a doctor.
I thought about it.
Perhaps this would be the humane thing to do, as there wasn't much I could do for her. I wouldn't be returning home for another 3 days.
I then thought about it from a different perspective. This small cat had obviously sustained an injury by getting hit by the truck and managed to survive. The cat then managed to get up onto the axle, while injured, when presented with the two hungry wild dogs - and survived. The cat was born into the worst possible situation, in the worst place in Canada in the dead of a real Canadian winter. I couldn't justify ending her life after the whole ordeal she had survived, and made a decision that I would attempt to fly her home with me, and see a vet. If she could survive long enough.
I found a plastic milk crate and lined it with a towel. I made a cardboard roof to secure the top and lined it with a garbage bag in case she had to go to the bathroom when I wasn't there.
She took to her new home immediately. She was visibly content now. She would purr when you pet her, and would make a quiet little meow when you opened her small milk crate and peaked in.
After a day, she began to eat. She would only eat from a spoon though, as moving around on her injured hind legs wasn't exactly easy for her.
I fed her salmon I mushed up with my fingers with water, so she wouldn't have to chew it. The water would be good for her too, even if she wasn't lapping it up.
For the next three days her spirits improved immensely and she was now interested in being social, however limited by her hind legs. Her appetite increased and she would anxiously await her salmon mush and gulp it down for as long as I would feed her.
The day came when it was time to return home to Ontario. Our small bush plane was packed to the ceiling, and there was no room for her milk crate. So I put the crate on my lap. Not exactly comfortable in the cramped quarters, but I hadn't brought her this far to leave her in the hole known as Pikangikum.
Upon arriving home late in the evening, my sweet lady's curiosity was getting the better of her. She made an effort and stood up. She looked at me, with her paws on the side of the milk crate, up on her hinds to take a peak at her new home. This would not last, as he was unstable, wobbled and against her control fell over to the side. I also noticed she had not gone to the washroom yet. This was three days with no bathroom break - and for a kitty - that's way too long. I decided she would visit the vet first thing in the morning.
Upon walking in the vets office, I was greeted by a receptionist who took my details. I went over the little lady's long story with her, and she asked me to name her, as she required a name for her paperwork. "Pikangikitty" was what I had come up with, and she would be spending the night with the Vet so she could be properly assessed.
I received a phone call the next day. They wanted me to come in to discuss Pikangikittiy's options. As much as I had hoped and prayed that the matter be something simple, I had the feeling it wouldn't be so easy. The vet advised she was quite the fighter, as she was dealing with a fractured pelvis - in three separate locations. The vet advised as a result, she had suffered some nerve damage and would not be able to function properly with her bathroom needs.
The options soon narrowed down to me making the final decision to have her put to sleep, as they say. Her chance for survival as a cat just wasn't in the cards for her. She would eventually die of toxic shock, weather it be a few weeks or a month. It wouldn't be a suiting end for my little lady, after all she had been through. She had such a personality, even through her injuries. I swallowed the cost of the vet. I was happy knowing I didn't let her die as dog food in the black hole known as Pikangikum.
I couldn't bear to be in the room for the final minutes while the vet injected her, but my girlfriend, who had been helping me with Pikangikitty did this for me. She stayed with her, petting her. From what she tells me, Pikangikitty purred until she closed her eyes and went silent.
Last edited:
