It's Not Wrong To Do The Right Thing

Laughing, the boys proudly showed off the scratches on their arms, telling their friends how the cat had struggled and cried before they finished killing it. They made sure it was dead though, they boasted, explaining how they had jumped up and down on its still breathing body, beaten it with a board filled with rusty nails, broken it’s legs, flung it high into the air, and finally, shoved it under the wheel of their car, running over the cat before they became bored and were off to find other adventures. Funny, they laughed, you should have been there.

That was the story as it was told to us. I cannot vouch for its accuracy, only it’s authenticity. But another story, with all of its horrifying implications, was only beginning to unfold. And unlike the above details, this story is not through a second party; rather, lived first person, and its ramifications are heartbreaking.

It was late on a Sunday afternoon when the group of boys stopped by our house. That wasn’t unusual, with a sixteen year old daughter in residence, our home is often a gathering place for the kids on the weekends, and they knew they would always find an open door with us. Like so many other days, we all sat around the living room, talking about what was going on, and as is the way of teenagers, about who was dating who, who was doing what, and what everyone had done over the weekend.

“Hey, did you hear what “John” did this afternoon”? One of the boys asked my daughter. Several kids laughed – “John” wasn’t very popular with the crowd and the general consensus was that they wouldn’t be surprised at anything he had done. Once again, it seemed “John” had found another poor animal and killed it – rumors of this kind of behavior from him had been circulating for months. But this was recent, this had only happened this afternoon. Asking for more details, I was politely told “You don’t want to know”. I let the subject drop, figuring that was probably all they knew, and wouldn’t tell me, a parent, anyway.

As the afternoon wore on, I left the kids alone, doing those things that you can only manage to get done on a Sunday afternoon. My thoughts drifted back to the conversation a few times, but honestly, I just figured they were spouting off, and probably didn’t know anything more. Late that night, long after we were in bed sleeping, I heard a muffled noise coming from the hall. Gradually, the sound increased, and I opened my eyes to find my daughter, standing beside my bed, the tears in her eyes glistening from the streetlight outside our window.

“Oh Mom” was all I could get from her at first, as she laid down beside me and cried. Finally, after letting her ease the tears from system, she was ready to tell me what was bothering her. “Mom, that poor cat, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t believe what they did to it, I have to do something” she choked out. I listened in horror as the incident was replayed to me. With a need bordering on urgency, she retold the story, hoping I suppose, to expunge her system of the shock and disgust she felt. “They pulled it’s head and tail until they heard something pop” she described “when the cat scratched them to make them stop, they broke it’s legs. Then, “Mark” swung it up in the air and threw it, when it landed, “John” jumped up and down on it, while it was still alive!” She pleaded. “Mom, do you know how big “John” is” she asked “do you know what that cat must have felt like”? On and on the story went, my daughter trying desperately to ease her heartache with the telling. All the little details were repeated, and when she was finished, she lay back down beside me, her head on my chest, and cried, her body shaking with grief. “Mom, please, help me, we have to do something”.

As a mother, my choices were very limited. I could either help her do something, or I could help her do something. You see? Mother’s have few choices. I reassured her that I would take care of it first thing in the morning, that I would do what ever it took. Finally, mercifully, she fell asleep there beside me. Two hours later I had to awaken her for school. Her first words to me were “Mom, please don’t forget, call someone today”. She needn’t have worried. I was as shocked and horrified as she was. By nine that morning, I was on the phone.

My first call was to the SPCA, thinking that would be the proper organization to give me information about our next move. It occurred to me how difficult my task would be, I could only relay the story as it had been told, and I couldn’t give specifics. Yet, I knew I had no choice but to try. The SPCA heard part of my story, and quickly told me I had to call Animal Control in our city. She gave me the number and wished me luck.

My second call was then of course, to Animal Control. Once again, I began explaining the reason for my call. The lady on the phone told me I would have to speak to someone else, and transferred my call. Again, I repeated my story. And again, I was told I was in the wrong department. Finally, someone told me that the person I needed to speak with was out, and if I left my name and number they would make sure they got back with me.

Convinced that someone would indeed return my call, I hung up, believing I would have the matter resolved before my daughter came home from school. Moments later however, the school called, informing me my daughter had a severe headache and needed to come home. No wonder, I thought to myself, as I gave them permission to release her and send her home.

Naturally, the first question from my daughter upon arriving home was “What did you find out”? I explained what was going on, and we both sat back to wait for the telephone call. By three that afternoon, we still had not heard from anyone at Animal Control. I looked at my daughter, sitting beside me, seeing the trust in her eyes, the look that says “You’ll know what to do, Mom” and I knew I had to make another call. Going over the multitude of animal cruelty sites on the Internet, I located the web page for PETA, which had a local chapter in our area. Thinking because they were local, they would be the best place to start, I picked up the phone once again. Dialing, I began to think perhaps my efforts were futile, as I tried to figure out a way to make someone, anyone pay attention to what I was trying to say. Then, there was a voice on the phone, asking me to state why I was calling. The secretary listened quietly, but before I could finish, she interrupted me. “You need to speak with a caseworker, hold on just a moment, I’ll transfer you”. Thinking this was just another put off, I smiled at my daughter, wondering how I was going to tell her no one would listen to me. Quickly, a friendly voice sounded from the phone. There was complete silence as I related the events I was calling about. When I was finished, the woman asked me a few questions, and then uttered the words that gave me the first real hope I had felt since this whole nightmare began “I need the boys names, and I need your help” she began “we can prosecute without a body, but if you can find out exactly where this happened, it would help us a lot”. I listened as she gave me instructions on what to do next, gave me her private extension number, her home number, and told me to call her anytime, day or night, with any information I could give her.

Realizing that the information she needed may not be easy to obtain, I hung up the phone and turned with cautious optimism to my daughter. I explained that yes, they would look into it, but we needed more information, and that in reality, she was the only one that could get it. My daughter never hesitated, never even considered for a moment doing things any differently. She glanced at her watch, and told me confidently “Everyone will be home from school in about a half hour, I’ll find out then”.

At the end of her first phone call, she had enlisted the help of another young girl who was friends with one of the boys involved. Minutes later the phone rang again. Her friend, pretending to think the whole incident funny, had called “Mark” and asked if the story were true and for details. He had eagerly confirmed the story, and told her approximately where it had happened. “It’d be easier for me to take you there and show it to you” he had advised. Now, she was afraid he was going to show up at her door, and she didn’t want to see him after what she had just learned. Quickly, my daughter told her we’d come get her and together, we’d attempt to locate the cat on our own.

Armed with approximate directions, we drove around the area attempting to locate the cat’s body. We soon realized we simply did not have enough information to go on. Once again, the young friend put in a call to “Mark’s” house from my cell phone, however, his mother informed her that her son wasn’t home, that he had gone over to her house”. Knowing that he had gone there to take her to see the cat, we drove back to her house, hoping to find him. As we pulled up into the court, we realized we had missed him; however, another of the boys involved drove by us, apparently on his way to “Mark’s” house. We followed him there, and before I realized what was going on, my daughter and her friend were walking to the door of “Mark’s” house. Together with my fiancé, we quickly followed her to the door, knowing this was something I didn’t want her facing alone.

“Mark’s” mother and father answered the door, and told us that he wasn’t home, that he was at some girl named “Julie’s” house. “Julie” quickly spoke up that she was “Julie”, and that “Mark” wasn’t there. We then asked if perhaps we could talk with “Will” as we noticed his car in the driveway. She looked at us quizzically, stating “I don’t know what’s going on, but “Will” doesn’t want to talk to you all, and won’t come to the door”. We all looked at each other, wondering what to do next, frustrated and angered by our inability to resolve this. Looking at my fiancé, I suggested to him that he tell “Mark’s” parents why we were there.

After explaining the purpose of our visit, “Mark’s” mother took the defensive. “There is some mistake” she insisted, turning to her husband for support “Mark” loves animals, he would never do something like this.” We attempted to explain that we too, hoped it was all a mistake, but that this is what was being said. “Julie” volunteered that “Mark” had confessed the whole incident to her, and explained that was why he had gone to her house. He had told her his mother was at home and he couldn’t talk about it on the phone, so he’d come over and take her there and tell her all about it. His mother continued to shake her head, believing that we were there, falsely accusing her son. I asked her why, if this were all false, “Will” would not come out and talk to us. She just shook her head, trying to find some logical explanation.

Moments later, “Mark” pulled up in their driveway. Walking to the door, you could tell by the look on his face that he realized he’d been caught. He looked down at the ground, refusing to meet our eyes. “Mark” his mother began, “These people have some accusations against you, and I think you should hear what they have to say”. Not looking up, he nodded, and his mother invited us to come in and sit down so that we could talk. As we entered the house, his mother asked us to tell “Mark” why we were there. I suggested that we ask “Will” to come in since he was involved. They agreed, and brought him in from outside. My fiancé suggested that rather than tell “Mark” why we were there, it may be interesting to see if he could guess.

A hush fell over the room, but only for a moment. Without hesitation, “Mark” spoke up. “I know exactly why they are here. It involves an incident that happened yesterday, with four boys and a cat, and it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and that’s why they are here.”

Before he was finished speaking, the anguished cries from his mother echoed around the room. My heart went out to her, I knew the pain she was feeling at that moment must have been immense. “Why“Mark”, why?” she cried “What about our dog? How could you do something like this”? “Mark” sat with his eyes glued to the floor, unable to answer. Knowing that any justification for our being there was quickly diminishing, we asked for directions to where the cat was located, and made sure the girls knew where we were going. The basic events of the day, minus the horrific details, were recounted, and we all sat in silence as “Mark” confirmed the whole harrowing story.

Turning to “Will”, I asked him how he could have been involved. “I didn’t have nothing to do with it” he said angrily.

“Then why wouldn’t you come to the door this afternoon”? I asked earnestly.

“Because I didn’t want to get yelled at for something I didn’t do” he shot back.

Knowing this was just a defense, and knowing the whole story, I pressed on. “Will, you were driving. I heard you ran over the cat after they had killed it. Why did you let them pick it up in the first place”?

Still angry with me for confronting him, he exploded in thinly disguised contempt “I only ran over it because they shoved it under my tire! What would you rather I have done, throw them out on the side of the road and leave them there”?

Shaking my head sadly, I thought to myself, yeah, that would have been a start.

Thanking “Mark’s” parents, I explained that we should be leaving, and I apologized for having to bring them such news. I realized I needed to say something more, but wasn’t quite sure what it should be. I looked at “Mark” for a long time, searching for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. I told him I was surprised at him, that he had been in my home, I thought I had known him better than this. All those things that you think, but really mean nothing to the person you are talking to. Finally, I gathered up my nerve and glanced at him once more. “Mark I need to ask you a question”. Looking at him to see what kind of reaction I was getting, I continued. “When you all found that cat, you said you picked it up off the side of the road. When you stopped the car and called the cat, did it come to you, willingly? Was it a tame animal, or did it run away from you, like it was frightened”?

“Mark” never even skipped a beat with his answer. “No mam, the cat came right to us when we called it.”

My heart sank, words choked in my throat as I stared at him. “So what you are saying is, that cat was someone’s pet”?

“Yes Mam” he replied, still looking at the floor.

Suddenly, the whole situation began spiraling out of control. My daughter, barely able to contain any form of civility throughout our visit there, stood up in anger, turned to “Mark” and cursed him, damning him as she screamed out her frustration. Her emotions spent, she turned and ran from the house, leaving only the sounds of her sobs from the street filtering in through the door. “Julie” made a quick exit behind her, and I apologized to the parents for her outburst, explaining that having three cats of our own, my daughter was deeply affected by what had happened. Suddenly, I was faced with yet another outburst, one I hadn’t expected, as my fiancé also hammered away at the boys. Trying to calm him down, and bring the situation back under control, I realized we simply just needed to get out of there. Everyone’s emotions were at a peak, and besides, we had to get to the cat’s body before nightfall, get the requested pictures and make the necessary calls. Once again, I thanked his parents, and finally, we left.

It was almost dark when we pulled into the cul-de-sac, but even though the light was fading from the day, the cat’s body was blatantly visible on the side of the curb, almost pleading to be found.

“Stop the car” I said sadly “there it is”.

For a few minutes, we all just sat there and looked at each other. I guess we had each been saying our own prayers, negating the truth of what had happened. Gathering our strength amongst ourselves, we all got out and walked over to the cat.

She had been beautiful in life. Her coat was shiny, silky; her body showed the attention someone had given her in providing her with good meals, and care. In death, she was crumpled in the standing rainwater along the curb; smatters of blood and other matter scattered within a five-foot range of her lifeless body. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream that was never to be heard. Suddenly, everything came rushing at me, and I broke, my tears and sobs erupting as fiercely as if they had been caged. My daughter came to me and held me, “its okay Mom” she soothed, “It’s okay, it’s over now”. Her strength made me cry harder.

Pulling myself together, I made the first call to Animal Control, as my caseworker at PETA had told me to do. As it was after five PM, they were closed, so the call went in through Police Dispatch. I really was in no mood to try to explain the circumstances or plead for help at this point, yet I was met with indifference.

“Mam” the voice on the other end of the phone explained “There is only one animal control officer on duty, and I am not sure a dead cat qualifies as an emergency”.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to explain to her more fully what was going on. “I am sorry, maybe you don’t understand. This is not just a dead cat. This cat was killed, it was tortured and abused and killed. Now surely, someone there would be interested in investigating that”?

After placing me on hold to ask someone else, she informed me that she didn’t know what she could do, but that she would “try” to send someone out. I thanked her and hung up, knowing that was not good enough. Immediately, I called my caseworker from PETA at home. She had been waiting for my call. I explained to her what was going on with dispatch, she took their number and told me she would call as soon as we hung up, to stay put and she would call me right back on the cell phone.

I leaned back against the car, frustrated more than words can describe. My fiancé was busy taking photographs of the cat, the shovel and the boards they had used to beat her with, as PETA had asked us to do. My daughter and “Julie” were huddled together a few feet away, looking angry and let down. My daughter walked over to me, and I knew whatever she was about to say, there would be no arguing with her, that look of complete determination shone fiercely in her eyes.

“Mom, there are three police officers just sitting over there in front of those open houses doing nothing. I am going over there”. I started to ask why, I started to tell her that she should watch her temper, but I quelled my tongue. I reminded myself that I had raised her to be respectful, that she wouldn’t do anything stupid, and that even if she did, there would be no stopping her at this point. Nodding, I watched them tread across the muddy field toward the officers.

We waited there at that deserted cul-de-sac for over forty-five minutes. I could see my daughter making her way back across the field, but she was too far away to be able to read her face. When she finally got back to the car, she just looked at me and said, “The police will be here in a minute”. Seems she had gone right up to one of the cars and confronted an officer who turned out to be a captain. I don’t know the man’s name, my daughter couldn’t remember, but I hope he realizes how much gratitude we owe him for taking my daughter seriously. He immediately radioed the station while my daughter was with him, and assured her that help would be on the way.

By now, it was dark, only the distant illumination from streetlights offered us any respite from the blackness. We had been there for over two hours, yet, I knew in my heart I couldn’t leave. I glanced over at the cat, unable to stop myself. I wondered if somewhere tonight, it’s owner was standing on the porch, calling her, or maybe, a small child was lying in her bed, crying for her pet that would never return. I wanted to somehow convey to that beautiful creature lying there lifelessly, that there were good people out here too, and how sorry I was that someone had let her down. I wanted her to know that people did care, I wanted to make some of the pain she had suffered go away, to make sure she knew that there were better people in this world than those who had hurt her so. Yet I knew that there was no way I could make up to her for what she had endured, that her last memory of this world was of excruciating pain and torture from the hands of ones she had so innocently trusted. The thought broke my heart, and it still haunts me today.

Finally, the officers arrived, one from the police force, and one from Animal Control. To their credit, they were so very compassionate, and very thorough. They explained a class they had just attended, linking animal abuse in adolescence to crimes later in life, and told about how so many mass and serial murders – even the kids involved in the Columbine shootings – had all first begun their criminal career by torturing animals.

At last we began to feel like the weight was being lifted from our shoulders, and what would happen next was in someone else’s hands. In a sad, but very resigned way, we left the officers to do their work. Yet, a new nightmare was to unfold in front of us only moments after our departure from that construction site. A nightmare shocking in its ignorance.

Realizing that “Julie” was very late getting home, we decided that we would walk in with her to explain to her parents where we had been. However, when we walked in her door, we were met not by her parents, but by the group of boys who had been at our home that fateful Sunday afternoon. Immediately, the incriminations began.

“What do you think you are doing”? One of the boys shouted at my daughter “I just got off the phone with “Mark” and he’s crying so hard he can hardly talk. What is wrong with you”?

“He’s crying”? Asked my daughter “Good, I hope he cries for the rest of his life. I’m sure that cat was crying when he broke it’s legs, did anybody care about that”?

“Yeah, well he’s sorry now, leave him alone”.

“Leave him alone”? My daughter asked incredulously “leave him ALONE? I hope he rots in hell for what he did”.

Several others offered their opinions, asking my daughter how she could turn her back on her friends, asking her what she was hoping to prove. She just glared at them, shaking her head. Finally she looked at the boy that started it and asked him point blank “What about my cats? What about yours? Don’t you care? You know as well as I do he’s done this before, why hasn’t someone stopped him? You know, it’s funny that he’s crying now. He sure wasn’t crying this morning when he was bragging about what he had done to everyone in school”.

Perhaps because no one could answer her question, the boys all left, without even another comment. Yet unfortunately, this was only the beginning of her being ostracized from her peers.

Within the next twenty-four hours, my daughter’s life changed dramatically. People she had considered friends were calling her, emailing her – all with the same purpose – to convince her she was wrong. Within another twenty-four hours, whereas our phone normally would ring off the hook once she would get home from school, now it sat mute, a silent testament to the disapproval from her former friends.

At school, she met with the police officer assigned to her school, her teachers, principle and other members of administration. Her parking spot at school was reassigned to allow school officials to watch her at all times, to ensure her safety. Classmates would watch her walking down the halls, occasionally pointing at her and whispering to a companion. That Friday night, she attended the schools Homecoming game, and returned home visibly shaken. Three of the four boys involved had been at the game and had sat mere feet away from her, glaring at her until she finally left early, escaping their stares.

I can’t even begin to explain the multitude of excuses offered up for these boys by their friends. One popular opinion is that since one of the boys is “crying” now, he has learned his lesson and should be left alone. Another is that since that boy only “helped” he shouldn’t be punished – that the other boy did “95%” of the killing. I had to admire my daughter as I heard her respond “Yeah well, the last time I looked, that cat was 100% dead”. She has been told that it states in Genesis that men are superior to animals, that she is ruining these boys’ lives, that she set them up. The insults hurled at her have been endless.

At this point, I began to realize that there was more of a problem here than just an animal cruelty case. And I began to get angry – angry in that way that only a mother protecting her child can feel. And I vowed that my daughter would not go through this in vain, that her actions would stand for something.

I began the next day, pouring over the Internet, searching for organizations I could contact who would listen to my story. I was amazed, and saddened, by the unusually large number of web sites out there devoted to animal cruelty – the problem is a lot more prevalent in our society that I would have liked to believe. I honestly don’t know how many letters I sent out that day, and in the days that followed. What I do know is that there are hundreds of people out there that do care, people that have come forward to stand behind us, have offered to help and support us in anyway they can. Organizations like the Humane Society of the United States, Animal Legal Defense Fund, Actors and Others for Animals, and even smaller, lesser known entities like Suzie and her website, sniksnak.com, and many others. My heart goes out to these people, for they have been a ray of shining light to us.

Yet throughout it all, my daughter refused – and still refuses – to back down. The blows continued to fall. On a night that we were scheduled to meet with the caseworker from PETA, my daughter walked in with tears in her eyes once again. “Mom, “Julie” can’t write up the statement the police want. Her parents don’t want her to get involved, they are worried what might happen to her”. Frustrated, we discussed what that would mean, and although definitely not good, it wasn’t the end of the world – we really had enough even without “Julie’s” statement. Yet, later that night, my daughter summed up her feelings about the matter in a dispirited sort of way “You know, I can understand where her parents are coming from, they are afraid someone will hurt her. But isn’t it sad, what they’re teaching her? That to do the right thing is wrong”? Yeah honey, I thought, that’s real sad, sadder than you realize.

Meanwhile, responses to my many letters continued to pour in. The local television station contacted us, wanting to do an interview. My daughter and I had talked it over before I had ever contacted them, so she knew what was involved, but her resolve was concrete – she wanted to talk to them. She kept insisting how shocked she was at people’s attitudes, how the principle at her school had told her repeatedly how wonderful she was, how they are so used to kids covering up for each other, they were so proud of her for coming forward. “But Mom” my daughter reasoned innocently “Don’t they understand this isn’t the same thing as cheating on a test or spraying graffiti on a wall? These kids killed another living being, and that’s just wrong. How could I have done anything any differently”?

The day came for the television crew to be at our house. My daughter was nervous, but determined. The newscaster asked her all the important questions, asked about being ostracized by her friends, and she answered each question with a sad, determined resolve. When the interview was over, as the camera man was packing up all the equipment, the newscaster was going over the directions to make sure he knew how to get to the site so he could film some shots there. When he was finished, he asked my daughter if the taunts were still continuing at school. She answered affirmatively, and he asked her if she thought it would get worse after the news show and if she was afraid. “Yeah” she replied “Yeah, it will. I’m scared to death”. He stopped fiddling with his notebook for a moment, and reminding her that being a juvenile, she’d had to give permission to talk with him, he asked “Yet, knowing that, you willingly agreed to talk to me. Why”? My daughter looked at him with one of those exasperated looks that are usually only reserved for me – the one that says, “You’ll never understand”. In a very quiet voice, she explained what she thought should be perfectly obvious. “Because I want to send a message to other teenagers. I want them to know that it’s okay to stand up for what you believe in. It’s okay to tell when you find out about something like this. I want them to help me make sure this doesn’t happen again. If they can stop it, they have to do something”.

But it doesn’t end there. Just this past Friday night, my daughter and a group of friends met at a local Tastee Freeze to go to the Haunted Forest. While waiting for the rest of their friends to show up, they were met by a group of the four boys’ friends. Taunts and accusations flew across the parking lot. “You set my friends up”! Was screamed loudly across the people milling around the burger joint. Once again, not backing down, my daughter screamed right back “I didn’t set them up, they set themselves up when they killed that cat. If they can’t handle getting caught for what they did, they shouldn’t have done it”.

My daughter’s thoughts on all the upheaval in her life are actually quite simple. She believes that anyone that has deserted her over this was not much of a friend to begin with. Her own words – that she really doesn’t want that kind of a person in her life – are words she is sticking by. Gradually, as more and more people see that she is firm in her beliefs and isn’t going to back down, people are coming forward to support her. She is making new friends, renewing acquaintances with people she had lost contact with, and slowly, even a few of the ones that had told her she was wrong are calling to apologize and admit that perhaps they – not she – were the ones wrong. It’s been a tough road to follow, but it’s one that, as my daughter herself says, is something she had no choice about. She had to follow her heart, and her heart said to act - and act she did, in a very unpopular way.

And this is where my narrative ends and my own thoughts come into play. Yes, as I have stated previously, I am angry in the way that only a mother seeing their child hurt can be. But it’s grown to bigger proportions than that. First and foremost, I understand that three of the four boys have been charged and will face prosecution. That is good, and is after all, what we hoped to accomplish. But there is an underlying message here that concerns me greatly.

At what point in time did these kids learn that it was okay to look the other way? Who in our society is teaching these children that to protect a friend should prevail over their own moral values? As I’ve said, one of these boys has been rumored to have been doing this kind of thing for quite awhile. If I, as a parent, had heard these rumors, surely the other kids knew of them also. Why hadn’t someone spoken up before now? Why was this type of behavior condoned to the point where this was allowed to happen over and over again? Had someone spoken up before my daughter, then perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are today, and that beautiful cat would be sunning itself on someone’s porch as I type these words.

Somehow, we have to get our society back to the point where they accept responsibility – not just for themselves, but for each other. When I think about the fact that these kids involved here are seventeen and eighteen years old – our country’s future – it scares me that their attitude is so cold and uncaring. It scares me that if they believe so strongly that these kids should not be punished, what does that say of our future, of the way this country will be run?

It’s time that we, as a society stopped sitting back and looking the other way. It’s time that we taught our kids to stand up for their beliefs, to be heard, to count for something important. And perhaps most of all, as my daughter so aptly said, it’s time to stop teaching them that “to do the right thing is wrong”. Wake up America – tomorrow will be yesterday all too soon. Let’s not make this our history.