I am ashamed to be white
The air, surprisingly calm amidst the speeding cars, stirred little on the debris strewn road. As we passed the 23 mile marker my eye was drawn to a twitch of movement in the middle of the four lane street. As we slowed to get a better look, the black fuzzy ball twitched again.
"Do you think it's an animal?" asked I.
"Without a doubt." said you.
By this time we were blocks away so we quickly turn the car around to get a better look. Cars, oblivous to potential life inches from their wheels, continue to speed by as I dart across the busy thoroughfare, quickly gather up the black bundle and return to the car. Are we too late in our rescue efforts?
"It's an animal alright." said I. "Looks like a kitten."
"Yep. " said you.
As though realizing it was safe to move, the black ball slowly unfurled itself, blinked its hazy green eyes, and burped out the most pitiful sound an animal could lay claim to; "mawr". Apparently we had ourselves a slightly dirty, apparently unscathed four week old (or thereabouts) kitten who mewed a little stronger with each passing minute.
"How do you suppose such a thing got into that busy road?" asked I.
"Dunno." said you.
"Well, I reckon the momma cat was transporting her kitten to a new home. Perhaps she got spooked and dropped him. Er....her." said I, having just looked under the tail.
"I reckon she did." said you as we manuevered back into traffic. With the unexpected addition, we head towards home.
As usual our basenji brood met us at the door; within seconds their usual greeting became more frenetic, bounding off my pant leg, snarking at each other when another got too close; they knew I had something cradled in my arms and they wanted a piece of it. Very casually I sat upon the couch and using my leg as a guard rail, slowly presented their newfound 9 oz "sister" for proper inspection. The more cautious boys stood further back, stretched their necks like horizontal giraffes, and very carefully gave the newly crowned Calle (that's Ki-yay to all you Northern folk; Spanish for street) a quick sniff, while I gently remind them, "Leave it. Easy, leave it". Calle, as evidenced by her ability to survive being caught in the middle of a busy four lane road at a very tender age, handles the boys with ease, never moving a muscle not even a blink, leaving th
e boys bored and disinterested. They give up and head for thier beds.
Not so our youngest, who at this time was only about 5 1/2 months herself. More curious then her older brethen, Feigh was very interested and less respectful of my leave it commands. No giraffe necking for her; she pushed her way past my barricade, stuck her nose in Calle's face, opened her mouth, exposing some lethal looking needle like puppy teeth and Slurp! claimed Calle as hers.
