Have You Ever Paid $100 a Pound for Something You Didn't Want?

This is Snark, in my opinion the ugliest cat in the world. I didn't buy him, I found him, ten days ago, in the dusty weeds along the side of the narrow rural road that runs along my property. I just wish I could also find who "owned" him, because I would first beat the ever-living tar out of that jerk, then take every dime I found on him.

I saw this kitten as I drove by, sighed, pulled into my driveway, parked the car and headed back up the road on foot. Snark made no attempt to hide or run away, which suggests that he was not from the litter of a feral cat. Such kittens tend to be much more skittish. (Yes, this is not the first kitten I've found by the side of the road, and let me tell you, it is not fun shoving your way through snake-infested tangles of brambles trying to catch them.) The second I picked him up, I had a good idea of why he'd been dumped. His eyes and nose were coated with discharge--if you look at the photo, that odd lump on the left side of his nose is actually a big knot of dried snot--and he was sneezing and wheezing. It's more than likely that someone who couldn't--or wouldn't--pay for vet care had gotten rid of the problem by dumping this young kitten on the nearest country road. "Don't worry, kids, Kitty will find plenty to eat out in the country."

Oh, really? This kitten was so dehydrated and bony that he looked like a combination of starved spider monkey and vampire bat. I practically pricked my fingers on his sharp little hip bones, and his eyes were so gummed up by discharge, he could barely keep them open. Had I driven by a few seconds earlier or later, I wouldn't have seen him and I have no doubt that in a day or two at most he would have died.

I took him down to my house, soaked off the encrusted discharge (this involved a bit of a battle) fed him a little milk and canned dog food, then put him in one of my dog crates. He curled up and went to sleep, while I explained to Emma, my Corgi, that she was still my best buddy and she could not chase or chomp the new arrival.

I took this picture when I first got this creature...he's slightly less hideous now, since he's been eating 18 hours a day and I've been wiping the muck from his eyes and nose every five minutes. Since he was otherwise pretty alert and chipper, I was hoping that decent food and a warm place to sleep might clear up the steady flow of goop, but that, of course, would have been too easy.

The steady flow continued, so a few days ago I took him up to my vet. Since I also need to worm him, I had them weigh Snark and he tipped the scale at a hefty nine-tenths of a pound. (This, remember, after a solid week of steady meals.)

The vet bill, including exam, oral antibiotics and some other stuff I was told to get down him twice a day, was $94.23, or approximately $100 per pound.

Which brings me to the reason I'm relating this little cat's saga on my blog.

In my two articles, Cheap Love and Cheap Love II, I made the point that even "free" animals can cost you, especially if you have a pet that ends up needing vet care. If you can allow for that in your budget, well and good. Sadly, some people don't, or their financial situation changes and they end up facing a grim choice...what to do with an animal they can't afford to keep.

Right now, there are a lot of people in financial trouble in this country, and for awhile, that number is likely to increase. Already, humane societies and animal shelters across the country are reporting animals abandoned by people who've lost their homes to foreclosure, the animals often left locked inside houses or yards or chained to trees while their owners simply walk away. Or, like Snark, they are dumped on a road somewhere to fend for themselves.

I'm not going to condemn anyone who can't keep a pet because of money problems. But I can and will condemn those who don't handle the problem responsibly.

If financial troubles force you to give up a pet, and you can't find it a new home, don't leave it behind in an empty house and don't toss it out of your car. Take it to your nearest animal shelter or humane society. Most shelters will even take pets with treatable illnesses. But if your pet is too old or too sick to have any chance at adoption, take it to your vet and have it humanely put down.

You heard me. Have your pet put down. And please don't email me with wails about how dumping it or abandoning it is better because "any chance at life is better than death!"

It's dark outside now, and the local coyote pack is out hunting. I can usually tell when they've found prey...their wails rise to a screeching chorus of gleeful yelps. This area is full of predators, from hawks perfectly capable of carrying off a kitten, to skunks, buzzards and snakes. Food is scarce, even for those skilled at hunting and most of the time, water is nowhere to be found.

For those who survive predators, there are other dangers. Not a week goes by that I don't see at least one car-struck corpse along the road. For a dog or cat dumped into this world, death can be slow or quick... and always, it is cruel. City streets are hardly better, with cars to dodge and little but garbage and oil-slicked puddles for sustenance. Millions of animals starve or die of injuries in such situations.

I prefer a different kind of death, a quiet, gentle, painless death. Having your vet put down a pet is terribly sad (if you have any love for that animal at all, you will end up weeping) but it involves no horror. I have five dogs and one cat buried on my property and I dug all the graves. A few months ago, I buried my big dog, Loki. Old and crippled, he was in constant low-grade pain. His back legs were gone--I'd been supporting him with a sling whenever I took him outside for weeks--and he was slowly losing the use of his front legs as well.

So I called my vet clinic, and as I usually do, asked if the vet would come out to my van. Most animals are frightened by vet clinics--shots, examines and other treatments do not make for happy memories--and I didn't want Loki's last moments to be fearful. I parked as far away as possible from the front entrance, to spare anyone else the sight of what was going to happen and I already had Loki lying in the back of the van on the blanket I would wrap him in to bury him. He was calm, relaxed and happy; when the needle was gently slipped into his leg, I was stroking his head and telling him what a good dog he was. An instant later, he was gone, quietly and painlessly.

A skilled and sympathetic vet can make this hard choice much easier. A good pet owner will take it. Cowards will lock their "problem" in an abandoned home, or dump it along the nearest empty lane. Just don't make it my lane, because if I see you, and can catch you, I will beat the ever-loving tar out of you.

Snark--and Loki-- would approve.