Heroes and Kittens

Was down town trying to keep up with my mother.  She sets a blistering pace with daily tasks to be achieved and an attitude to life that is productivity focussed.  Gardens, houses, clothes, bathrooms, cupboards, carpets, bills, financial papers read, letters to be written etc.  Boredom is not something she has ever experienced.  That is probably why she refuses to wait for anyone or anything.  Abundant with all sorts of virtues patience is not one of them.  Her name Emily means industrious and by name and nature she epitomises that word. 

So when I hear a small kitten crying I have to quickly draw her attention before she is miles ahead of me on the pavement.  Stopping, we both listen attentively – nothing but the normal traffic noises around us.  But when I make that wishwish sound, one does to cats, the kitten cries again loudly in response.  The sound is coming from under the bonnet of a red Fiesta parked with a disabled sticker on its window.  Tentatively approaching the vehicle we hear the piteous cry again.  It is definitely coming from under the bonnet of the empty car.  We peer under wheel arches, crouch down to look under the car but see nothing. 

A couple of ladies join us listening intently and, in response to the tiny fur balls squeals, agree that it “is a kitten stuck somewhere in the engine”.  Into this now growing crowd of well-wishers comes more people including the owner of the car.  She hands over her car keys, so one chap could pop the bonnet.  With that achieved most of us lean over the engine and peer into the innards of the car.  There deep down under spark plugs and hoses etc is a tiny fluffy kitten howling its distress and looking up hopefully at us.  First the man and then each of us tries to reach down past cables to pull the kitten us but to no avail. 

One stranger goes into a nearby supermarket and returns with a box of dried cat food to try and entice the kitten down to the ground from the engine frame.  This does not work and by now the crowd on the pavement and road has grown to a critical mass.  People are now flocking to the scene because there is a sufficient number of people to cause curious stares and interest.  All have their own ideas to share, “Shall I call the police?” “Whose is it?”, “There is a garage down the road!”, “How long has it been in there?”  Every newcomer is rapidly filled in by those in the know and all the while the piteous cry of the kitten urges action on us all. 

A tiny thin girl appears from the supermarket in her blue uniform with tattoos down each arm.  She leans forward and her matchstick arm does the impossible, she reaches down through the tiny convoluted spaces and pulls out the frightened kitten.  We are all relieved that a rescue has been engineered.  I look around at all the well-meaning faces and know that these people are those who could not walk past without expressing concern and taking action to help.  So many good souls on a pavement ridiculously pleased that with all the pain and loss in this world, a tiny furry kitten has been saved at least.  I suddenly wanted to celebrate the inherent unspoken goodness of all these strangers and savour this moment but my Mum is off.  No time to stand and stare, there are things to do, no wasting time she is off, an unstoppable force and I race to keep up.