A few days ago whilst caring for Charlie the cat, black sleek prince of Wadsworth, in his exquisite treetop home half a block from the beach in Santa Monica, I heard a yeowling coming from the back porch. There he was, perched on the top step of his spiral staircase, his efforts of forward movement being thwarted by a straggly, bone skinny, orange, black and white homeless cat who was vocally claiming this porch as his.
I peered out through the sliding glass door and instantaneously felt a conflict rise inside of me but loyalty to my charge took precedence over my indecision. I opened the door and shooed the homeless cat away, allowing Charlie to enter his human occupied realm. He glanced up with a flicker of acknowledgement and then made a bee-line for his fresh fishy food. I went back to the door and looked out for the other cat. No sign of hide nor hair.
I cannot help but be haunted by this, and by my part in it! I have tried to justify my impulse to opt for Charlie but my allegiance to the sensitivities of those less fortunate in this world is real.
It is easy to stand on the side of the beautiful and healthy and wealthy.
It is easy to reach out to the needy and down trodden and unkempt.
What is the deciding factor in which way to jump?