“STOP!” I yell. A brown spotted cat is lying in the middle of the road, wagging its golden fluffy tail. “Drive around it.” I say anxiously to my husband, “you don’t want to run it over”. As we slowly drive by, I roll down the window, and start whistling to the silly cat, to try and get it to move along. That’s when I spot the blood pouring out of its little head. “Oh no Ari! It’s been hit. What do we do? I don’t think it’s wearing a collar”. Ari parks up as I frantically search the web on my phone, looking for numbers for a local vet. Of course, there is no answer from any at 8:30pm on a Sunday evening, but I must try something.
“Why don’t you try calling the RSPCA?” Ari prompts.
“Oh. Ok, I’ll try them.” I find the number and begin to dial. Press one for an animal in distress. Press three for domestic animals. As I get through to a real person, I jump out of the car and begin walking quickly towards the furry little thing.
“Hello. We have just driven past a cat in the road. It appears to have been hit by a car. It was moving when we got here, but seems to have stopped now. I don’t have any pets, so I don’t really know what the protocol is?”
The man on the phone takes my name, number and our location. That’s when I spot the blue collar left on the side of the now lifeless body and pick it up. “I’ve just found his collar. His name is Boris. There’s a telephone number. Shall we call it?” As I read out the number to the man on the phone, I gesture to Ari, who gets the hint and starts dialling. He has tried twice, but there is no answer. “Let me try”, I say, as I finish my call with the RSPCA. After a few rings, a lady answers. She is softly spoken with a husky tone to her voice, as though she has just woken up.
“Hello. Sorry to bother you… We have just found your cat Boris… A car has hit him… I’ve called the RSPCA to come and help… He was moving… but he isn’t moving anymore… I’m really sorry… I don’t think he’s going to make it.” I keep pausing but the lady on the phone isn’t saying a word. “Did you already know about this? Did someone already call you?” I ask.
“No… No I didn’t know,” she whispers. “Where are you?”
“Umm… We are outside number 10 Lucas Gardens. Will you be coming to get him? The RSPCA said they would come, but…” As I ramble on with all this information, I can hear that she’s already fumbling around. I hear the sound of keys, a door slam shut and the clicking of heels on the ground.
“I’m coming now” she says, and puts the phone down.
I get straight back onto the phone to the RSPCA to inform them that we have been in touch with the owner. As I’m talking, I can hear the same clicking heels getting louder as the lady now approaches from around the corner. “That’s her,” I tell Ari. We make way for her as she runs towards her cat. She collapses over Boris with tears streaming down her face. She takes a big gasp of air and picks him up. Cradling him in her arms like a baby, she gets back up to her feet. Through her tears, she managed to let out the words “thank you”, and begins to walk off.
“I’m so sorry”, I say with a heavy heart. There was nothing more to do, and with a press of the ‘end call’ button on my phone, our job here was done.