When Danny was about 3 years old, my mother designated a cat for him, to be kept at her house where he spent considerable time, as I substituted at the school. The cat was a small black friendly little kitten, which Danny named Cutie. It lived quite happily in the barn with the other cats and enjoyed being held and cuddled.
One day I received a call. The cat was badly injured and needed medical intervention. There were several rogue dogs that lived somewhere upstreet but would roam in a pack, bent on trouble. On this day they had chased Cutie who ran up a tree in the adjoining back yard, but not before one of the dogs managed to grab her as she fled and mangled the rear of her body. No one could bear to look.
I agreed to drive her to the nearest vet, who was Dr. Livingston Smith in Stillwater. I had the cat carrier in my car but was filled with dread, not wanting to deal with the poor mangled but stilll alive little animal. Who stepped forward but 11-year-old Kathleen who cradled little Cutie in her arms before putting her in the carrier. When we got to the vet's, she carried Cutie inside where Dr. Smith, a seasoned animal caretaker, looked appalled at the sight--the dogs had torn off the back half of the cat's body.
Dr. Smith did of course euthanize Cutie, but not before saying that Kathleen was " a brave little girl." I remember thinking she might grow up to be a veterinarian.
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