Compassion and stupidity are not mutually exclusive

When I was in high school, I was driving home one winter night and suddenly came upon a dog standing in the middle of the paved country road. I instinctively put on my brakes. My yellow Chevy Celebrity slid on the black ice that covered the road and then slammed into a ditch. My little sister, who has a knack for being a passenger when people get into accidents, was very shaken up, as was I. Neither of us was hurt, but the car was essentially totaled. (And the dog, I might add, was unharmed.)

After that little accident, my dad tried to nudge me toward having learned a lesson. He wanted me to say that, should I find myself in a similar situation again, I would just hit the animal. People's lives are more important than animal's lives. But I really dislike lying, and I knew that I would do the exact same thing again, regardless of the consequences. That was many years ago, and I still think I would do the same thing now.

I have a soft spot for animals. Living in a country like Morocco can be difficult for people like me because animal welfare isn't as much of a priority here as it is in a place like the United States (although I have to say that, in the U.S., we are a little hypocritical with our love of animals).

I have remarked several times that it's a very good thing I'm so allergic to cats and dogs. My allergy prevents me from having the option of rescuing any of them. I know myself well enough to know that if I could take in a stray cat or dog, I would take in many more than I could practically handle.

That's what I said, anyway. Until last night.



It was a dark and stormy night, as they say. No, really. It was windy and the rain was so cold that by morning it had turned to snow. I was lying in bed trying to read a book, but I soon became distracted by a plaintive mewing sound. T couldn't even hear it, but it made my heart ache.

After several minutes, I bundled myself up and went outside to investigate. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was a bad idea. This neighborhood, like virtually every neighborhood in Morocco, is filled with stray cats, including pathetic and starving little kittens. I found one such kitten outside, a tiny calico, trying to get the attention of any of the adult cats milling about. They all ignored her. I felt sad but thought I would see her mother soon. No such luck. I still thought I might be able to bring myself to go back inside my apartment, but then the little kitten saw me and made a beeline for me. This is very unusual in Morocco, as most street cats and dogs are rather skittish around humans. The kitten ran straight for my feet, and I could feel her shivering against me.

And even as I knew it was a horrible idea, I was picking her up and wrapping her in my scarf. (I can't remember the last time I even so much as touched a cat; I'm that allergic.) She mewed a few times, with hunger, I think, but quickly settled down and even purred a couple of times. I called up to my apartment until I got T's attention. He called another animal-loving friend of ours, and we soon had the kitten settled with a litter box, some food, and some water in the bathroom of a third friend's apartment.

Today, as I desperately searched in vain for someone to take the kitten, the very clear sense I had last night – that this was a stupid idea – became even clearer. I heard tales of people euthanizing their own kittens, or releasing them into the streets because they had taken in too many stray cats. Eventually I convinced one such person to take the kitten, but with the condition (a theoretical condition) that we continue to try to find a home for her. it's possible that she will have to be returned to the streets when the weather warms up. It's possible that she will die there.

And I feel the same way about this that I felt about totaling my car in high school. It was a stupid thing to do. And I would do it again.