Several years ago, a pitiful stray cat searching for food came to our back door. He had been beaten so badly he trembled uncontrollably, walking slowly and deliberately the same way a person in the advanced stages of Parkinson’s disease moves. By breed, he was a tuxedo cat, dirty and emaciated, with a lentigo spot adorning the right side of his mouth. A ribbon of dried blood ran from his ear to his chin; now dark and matted, the laceration needed immediate attention, but because of his feral nature, and despite our best efforts, there was no choice but to leave the wound untreated.
Using patience and gentle words, we persuaded him to eat from a tray of food that we had placed on the ground near the bottom step of our back porch. After eating, he lumbered slowly down the driveway and then disappeared behind a small bush.