He knew I would find them. That I wouldn’t just look away and would take care of them.
He probably didn’t know I was going to break down and cry. I don’t mean a single stoic tear in silence. It was an ugly cry of despair.
11 or 12 kittens in a pile. Whichever I picked up, there was something wrong with him/her. Malnourished. Dehydrated. With an eye infection. Three or four had their eyelids completely shut. I gently rubbed them with a wet cotton pad, but they did not open. I was howling at home to Tamer that they were blind! “How will they survive? These are walking corpses, their days are numbered… ”
The next day I brought them food and water again, just an extra stop on my daily feline feeding route. One kitten sadly succumbed. The others kept climbing into my lap day after day. So I was able to give them eye drops. None were blind, only a few squinting glances stared at me as I was talking to them.
Tomorrow will be three weeks since they came into my life. 2 sisters already found a home. For others, we continue looking for the right adopters. Everyone is getting better, the orange tigers are already real three-month-old trouble makers.
If the one who threw them out on the street ever looks me in the eye, I will curse him out. But my Arabic isn’t advanced enough. I would spit in his face. But that’s wrong, I’m told. So what else is there for me to do?
I persevere. For the kitties.