Dempster The Dumpster Kitten

Lola lifted the dumpster lid and heaved the bag of trash in, almost smashing the little tabby kitten looking up at her. She held onto the trash bag long enough to pull it away from the kitten who scampered through the trash to the other side of the dumpster. The kitten was no more than five weeks old, if that. And obviously didn't belong in a dumpster, but tell that to the cretin who threw him there.

Lola looked at kitten; kitten looked back. Lola sighed deeply, then pulled herself up and dropped down into the trash. The kitten pressed back against the dumpster side and warily watched this human slip and slide through the mess. Lola stretched her hand out, fingers hopefully wiggling, chirping "here, kitty, kitty." The kitten stared at her, looking bewildered by this aspect of human behavior. The kitten jumped for the top of the dumpster, teetered on the side, then jumped down. Lola muttered something unprintable under her breath, then reached for her cell phone. Time to call in the big guns.

When Lola's grandmother, Anne, arrived, the kitten was sitting at the edge of the parking lot, ready to dart into the bordering woods. Anne opened a can of cat food and, talking softly, put it a few feet from the kitten, then stepped back. One tiny step forward, a tentative pause, then another step, until he was at the food, gulping it down. Anne approached again; he looked into her eyes and trust began.

He slept in a crate by Anne's bed for three weeks. He was gentled in her hands. Then he was big enough to go to the vets for testing. The results were devastating. Feline leukemia, terminal. Anne's tears streamed down her cheeks as she cradled him, then let him go for the last time.

"I hate this job," she told me. "I hate this job." I tapped the carrier on the table, "But what about this one", I said pointing to the another of Anne's fosters,"he would be dead without you."

"And all the others", the vet said quietly, "And all the others".