Author Marc-Yves Tumin tells the story of one NYC Rescued Kitty
Great News! Sandy was adopted on 11/29/03 to a loving home with another kitty friend!
- Poor Sandy was one of the luckier cats we came across. Even so, when I recall his story, my heart turns over. He had somehow clung to life through the depths of the last brutal winter, hiding in a corner of a busy parking lot on the Lower East Side.
In the unforgiving icy weather, Poor Sandy sheltered in the wheel wells of parked cars and trucks, burrowing as close to the warm engine as possible. If no one tapped the vehicle hood in the morning, he'd have a narrow escape when the engine jolted to life.
When it rained, Poor Sandy would huddle with a few other tattered homeless creatures under a dirty tarpaulin that covered some parked motorcycles. They were the fortunate ones.
Most feral beasts lead short, desperate lives. There's little to look forward to but sleep. There's no time for play. Their meager resources of energy are spent scrounging for food, evading traffic, avoiding mean-spirited people, and staying warm.
One by one, Poor Sandy watched them - the parade of homeless cats passing through his parking lot - and one by one they moved on to a bleak, uncertain destiny. A few remained there. Some sickened. Most died.
The parking lot owners were not bad people; not at all. They didn't even object to the occasional Good Samaritan feeding the rag-tag band. They were simply too preoccupied with other things to care for them themselves. So they just ignored Poor Sandy and his suffering companions.
For some inexplicable reason, the spark of life inside Poor Sandy burned a little brighter than in the others. It flickered, it died down, but it didn't quite go out.
When we rescued him in the dead of winter, he was thin, his coat was ragged, and his eyes were dull. He was limping heavily, from the time he was almost run over. He had a severe respiratory infection, which left untreated, probably would have killed him.
At the veterinarian's office, Poor Sandy's heart stopped under anesthesia but he was resuscitated. Now he's healthy, full of life, and filling out. And all he wants - all he's ever wanted - is a loving home for himself.
As I watch Poor Sandy curling up and purring contentedly on his little blanket, I wonder how many of his nine lives he used up, what terrible things he's seen, and why he was spared out of so many needy animals. Perhaps it was so that I could tell you his story.