The Kit

 

                                      The Kit cradled in my hand

I saw the bird first, barely recognizable, torn into several pieces. I knew immediately that it had obviously met up with my cat that I hadn’t been able to call in the night before. Poor bird. I know cats will do cat things, but I still felt bad for the feathered fellow. And then I saw it. A slight movement just inches away from the carnage in the grass drew my attention to the small creature that lay there, its chest moving just slightly. I drew closer. A baby rabbit, appearing to be just days old, had obviously met up with my feline as well. How or where, I didn’t know, but there would have been no chase as with the bird. He had most likely been taken from his family's burrow. There was a small puncture wound where the perpetrator had most likely latched to carry him across the yard, but he was most definitely alive. Carefully I picked him up, and as I began to gently caress his body, he stretched, extending his legs.  

I had left the house for my morning walk when I made the discovery of that tiny kit just steps from the back door. I knew as he responded to my touch that I wasn’t to leave him alone. I grabbed a couple of tissues and, holding him in my left hand, started down the path behind our home that leads to the park’s walking track.

As I left the trail and entered the park, suddenly, without warning, I began to cry. Grief often comes unexpectedly, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of loss and the realization that things will never, ever be the same again. Memories of my husband lying in that hospital bed five months earlier washed over me like a flood. I looked at the tiny creature that I held close, feeling my caress as I walked. Those long days that Larry lay in that narrow hospital bed, hooked to tubes and lines, I wish I could have held him close like this.

I walked the trail for about an hour, at times smiling and greeting others as we passed. And then there were the moments when the tears would come without any prompting. They just came. It was then that I would hold that tiny creature I was carrying just a bit closer to my heart.

When I was young, our cats would often drag home young rabbits. We were never able to save any of them. So, on my return home, I prayed, asking the Lord to show me where the burrow was. I knew the chances of survival would be better with the mama. It didn’t take long to find, recognizing it by the rabbit fur surrounding the hole. I placed him deep inside, feeling as I did so, the softness of his siblings. I hope he makes it. Whatever the outcome, I hope I was able to offer that tiny kit, at least for a little while, a bit of comfort. I know he did that for me.