RIP Harley

Some years ago I worked at a vet clinic and one day I came to work and heard something wailing loudly from the point I entered the staff entry downstairs. When I got up there, I discovered all that ruckus was coming out of an absurdly tiny, filthy waif of a kitten in a carrier in our treatment room.

Gods what a MESS it was... full of ear mites and grunge, a snotty nose, gunky eyes, fleas, worms, dehydrated and so covered in rotten garbage and faeces from not being able to move when he defecated we initially weren't sure what colour he was precisely. I tentatively stuck my finger up to the cage, half expecting he may be feral when he butted his mucky head up against my finger and burst into an astonishingly big purr for such a tiny kitten. His purr was later to earn him the name of Harley.

As it turned out he'd had a very nasty broken leg and some damage in the pelvis in what was believed to be an attack by a baseball bat or similar object before he was thrown in the dumpster he was rescued from. Initially it was assessed the leg would have to come off but in the end he kept it. Cade, my Italian Greyhound, 'adopted' and fussed him like a clucky hen. If the kitten went where he shouldn't in the clinic, Cade trotted after him, nabbed him by the scruff of his neck and carried him back.

I got an e-mail this morning to let me know that he had been attacked and killed by the family dog and the damage was so bad there was nothing for the vet to patch together. He was the most placid cat, not always the brightest - we rather suspected he'd sustained a bit of brain damage from his attack - but sweet as the day was long. I can't even fathom him meeting that kind of end. Unfortunately this is not the end of the bad news for this week either but that's another story.

RIP Harley, I'm sure Cade has found you in heaven and you've both found a sunny patch to snooze the days away in.