Bunny, a.k.a. Viserys, is injured.
For the past two months, I’ve been visiting him everyday to feed him. It started with an impromptu meeting. It was the beginning of my cat craze and just by chance, I saw Bunny scavenging the bushes on my way home one day. I ran home to grab some cat food. He wouldn’t come anywhere near me. I had to put the food on the ground, back away a dozen paces before he would approach the food.
Thus began a “courtship” of sorts. Everyday after work, I would bring cat food to him. At first, I had to find him. But it was only a week before we established our meeting place. From then on, whenever I visited our spot, I could expect to find him there. It took two weeks for him to feel comfortable eating right next to me.
It took another month before I could pet him. After that, there was no turning back. I felt such a strong connection to him. He recognized my voice. When I call for him, he would leap out from behind the bushes, drowsy with sleep, run over to me, and circle around my legs. He meowed at me, gently, incessantly, every sound filled with love. I would sit down on the benches, pet him for a minute before bringing out the food. He would take short breaks from eating to rub his back over my legs and nudge my hand with his head. I would pet him and marvel at how far we’d come.
One day after leaving our meeting place, I was startled to find him following me. For a week, he tried to follow me home everyday. He never got very far. A bird would catch his attention or the headlights of incoming traffic would scare him. I called out to him, I told him I would protect him and take care of him, but he was too afraid. It was wishful thinking on my part.
After the LSAT, I was sick for a week. I stayed in bed and left the apartment a total of two times in six days. I knew I didn’t have many more days left in the Bay Area and I wanted to find him a home. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to take him in only to have him put down if he tested positive for FIV. Maybe he would prefer to be free and outdoors than to go through the risks of adoption.
Our time together was coming to an end and I didn’t know what else I could do for him. So I stopped going to see him. I made up excuses; I told myself I was too busy. But really, I felt like I had already failed him. I wanted him to be taken care of for the rest of his life, but I couldn’t make it happen.
I finally went to see him yesterday. I called out for him and waited. I wondered if he forgot me. Then I saw him, limping out of the bushes. There was a patch of dried blood on his front leg and a piece was missing from his tail. I was stunned. I wanted to cry, I wanted to pick him up and hold him. I wanted to yell at him for not running away faster from whatever dangers he faced, I know he is not a fighter.
It was the push I needed to call the animal rescue in Emeryville. They gave me the number of the Berkeley animal shelter, who then gave me the number of Emeryville animal control. But the words “animal control” scare me. If I could get Bunny into a carrier I’d take him to the vet myself. But Bunny hates the carrier, he struggles whenever I try to pick him up. I can’t call animal control and risk his life. To them, he’ll just be another stray, and there are already so many of them in the streets. But to me, there is only one Bunny.