A cop friend of mine called me yesterday to tell me a woman who’d just buried
her husband less than a month ago reported that some scum bag had just shot her kitten in the eye.
Needless to say, I went straight to the woman’s house, where her beautiful, long-haired calico kitten was trying valiantly to purr in rusty, stuttering purrs in the woman’s lap, her soft little kitty head swollen, a nasty gash stitched over what was once a beautiful green eye. An equally nasty exit wound was shaved and patched on the backside of her head.
The kitten’s vet, who is one of the foremost animal doctors in Burnet County, said there was no way this .22 caliber wound was an accident. The jerk-off who shot her (in city limits by the way) was aiming right at her eye.
“Luckily, this kitty had a few of her nine lives saved up, because a fraction of an inch and it would have killed her,” Doc said.
“So what happens now?” I asked my cop buddy.
“Well, if we ever figure out who did it, they’ll be charged with animal cruelty,” he said.
“They can’t tack on extra charges for discharging a firearm inside city limits?” I said.
“Nope, we can’t even charge people who’ve murdered someone inside city limits with that one.”
So this poor, freshly minted widow and her newly shot up kitten gets no justice at all. Really? Does this butt-head Shooter Boy not know he lives in Texas, where even the florists are armed, and as soon as Miss Kitty is up to it, she will make reservations at the shooting range to get her Permit to Carry?
Not to mention that my buddies over at the Hill Country SPCA will be ready to relieve this idiot of whatever cajones he had in the first place.
While sitting with the woman and her injured kitten, I tried not to be angry on her behalf, and she nearly broke my heart when she reached over and took my hand and said, “You’re the one who wrote the story about that dog that prays, right?” she said, a tear streaming down her cheek. “Do you think you could ask him to pray for my kitten?”
“Of course I will,” I said, adding that if Shooter Boy ever stepped foot near my property, he’d have more to worry about than praying dogs.
“My mean little Ninja Kitty would open up a super-sized can of feline Whoop Ass all about the man’s head and neck, and Shooter Boy would be haunted forever by a yellow and white streak of pure kitty fury,” I told her.
She laughed then and I handed her a tissue and went to call Ranger the Praying Dog. My guess is that Ranger is every bit as outraged as the rest of us, and I’m fairly certain the Powers That Be will take heed of the beautiful Sheltie who has a direct line to heaven and knows how to punch in the number for Wrath of the Almighty.
All I can say to Shooter Boy is, Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid. Ninja Kitty has your number. And if Ranger the Praying Dog is on the case, I’d be looking out for lightning bolts . . . http://highlandernews.com/pets/praying-dog-a-hit-in-m%E2%80%99falls/8200448/