"She was only a small brown tabby cat, about half grown, when Bootsie began coming out of the shadows of parked vehicles on the lot I watched at night. I would see her on a monitor screen crouched beneath the tailgate of a truck or stalking an occasional mouse in the vicinity of the gas station. Cute, I thought. We could do with fewer mice. Within the next few weeks Boots had begun stalking me and hanging out near the office. Soon enough Boots was coming inside and sleeping happily in an old green chair in the corner and walking beside me as I made rounds. Her meow, a sound like a rusty gate hinge, was unmistakable in the stillness of the heavy night air of South Florida.

One night I arrived to find a young man filling in for our in-house gadfly who was forever getting 'sick' on weekends. Jim, as I will call him, was excited about having met Boots.

"Did you know there's a cat around here and that she's friendly?" Jim asked.
"Well,' I replied, 'I've seen a cat around at times."
"This one is really friendly and she needs to get out of here. I mean, this is no place for a cat, with traffic and people running in and out. This little cat needs a good home and a soft bed to sleep on and someone to take care of her."
"Fine,' I responded, 'why don't you take her home with you? I'd do it except we already have four resident rescues."
"Oh, I couldn't,' Jim answered, 'I had a cat for eleven years and when I had to have her put down it almost killed me. I mean, I couldn't do that again. She was so loving and I just couldn't take.......I'll look around and try to find her a good home."
"Great," I said, 'confident that Boots would soon be on her way to a happy new life.

Weeks passed without change. One night Jim called the office:

"Is Boots still hanging around, I mean, have you, er, seen the cat lately?"
"Yes,' I told him, 'she's here right now."
"Er, I was going to bring some food but I wouldn't if she's not still around."
"She's right here, Jim."
"Tell her I'm coming for her,' Jim stated.
"Hey, Boots,' I told the cat later, 'Jim says he's coming for you. If you get to go home with him I'll miss you but I want what's best for you." I was surprised to find a lump in my throat as I realized how much a part of everyday life Boots was and how I would miss that eager greeting and small brown head which fit so neatly into my palm.

When I returned to work on Saturday night I was both pleased and dismayed to discover Boots was still there. "Damn,' I thought, 'I might have known that good ol' Jim thought the best gift he could give an animal was his presence.

About four weeks ago I noticed that Boots had abraided her left leg and I applied first aid ointment and the leg seemed to be healing nicely. Then, two weeks ago on my night off I received a panicked phone call from Jim.

"Oh, listen, I have to tell you, this cat is hurt. She can't even walk on one of her legs and I don't know what to do. Can you come catch her, I mean, I don't know whether she'll let me catch her and I can't leave her like this 'cause she's helpless to take care of herself."
I assured Jim that I would get a carrier and come. The problem was where to take an injured animal after midnight. Jim mentioned Hollywood Animal Hospital and then asked for the number of the Humane Society. I gave it to him and was told to call back in a few minutes. When I returned the call Jim told me that Broward County Animal Control was already in the area and would be there within fifteen minutes. They arrived while we were still on the phone.

A second call to the office provided me with the information that Boots, Case #808654, would be checked by the shelter vet, Dr. Johnston at 10 AM when he came in and that Jim had told Animal Control to put down his name as being willing to adopt. Later reports indicated the injury to be an abscess rather than a break and that Boots had been given antibiotics. "Thank God,' I told my spouse, 'Boots will be all right and Jim is going to adopt her." All's well that ends well.

On the following Tuesday we received a call from Jim. Jim was babbling about wanting someone to foster the cat for him if he adopted. My other half took the call and told him that it was Jim who should do the fostering.

"I can't,' Jim protested, 'I can't go through all that again with having a pet and maybe having to have it die one day. I mean I don't, I mean I can't......"
Ever the realist, my partner told Jim that he kept rambling on about poor, poor emotionally challenged Jim and what he could and could not deal with and about a cat which was dead and that Boots would be dead herself if he didn't help her. This seemed to shut Jim up. I had long since lost patience with the litany which was less about a departed pet than a reptilian veteriniary clinic in Coral Springs which obsessed over a client's ability to pay for projected proceedures and about Jim's own personal loss.

On Thursday Boots was available for adoption. I sent repeated posts addressed to our once and long-term former vet, T.P. Johnston, via the Broward County Animal Services Web site (Which only since has added the information that the email Web form sends mail to the Broward County vice-mayor, Ilene Lieberman) telling Dr Johnston to call me 24/7, at home or by pager, before puting Boots to sleep and I would come adopt her at once even if I had to transport her to a no-kill facility. T.P. Johnston, DVM, was under no legal obligation to notify me but I had counted on simple concern for animals and a desire to help them. Once again, I seemed to have been mistaken in my expectation of a higher good in humanity.

On Saturday night when I reported for work the person I relieved told me that they had heard a rumor that Boots was to have been put to sleep on Saturday. I was stunned.

There had been no attempt to contact me: no call, no page. Less than 48 hours after the mandatory three day waiting period for adoption, Boots was dead.

She never had a chance. This poor animal was one of many throwaway kittens which never had proper food and never lived in a house or had a home. She had spent her short life wandering the fields and canals of Pompano Beach."

"Forgive me if I weep -- she was so sweet
That little cat who scampered through the house,
Or curled asleep upon the window ledge,
Though still alert to stir of leaf or mouse..
But now she's gone, whose soft paw often touched
My cheek at the first glint of day;
Or with arched back, skipped through the room,
Enticing me to enter in her play.
Oh God of little cats -- my earnest plea
Is that while things are strange to her, you may
Scratch her ears sometimes, let her chase
Celestial mice along the Milky Way.
Just for a little while until she finds
Some chosen spot upon the Outer Gate
When she is weary of her running, where she may
Curl up in the sunshine -- there to sleep -- and wait."

Author Unknown

Bootsie is gone from among us and some remain to ponder the questions of friendship and ethics and how we are to live among the unpretty people of our acquaintance and their moral vacuum. It is the impetus behind this open letter to the person who euthanized Bootsie:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,

The other day when you put down cat # A808654 and you held her and she looked at you, did she purr? Did she nuzzle you with the innocent trust of a small helpless creature even as you inserted the needle of death?

Do you look in the mirror and like what you see and do you tell your family what it is you really do day after day? Are you proud of your 'career'?

Tell me, do you sleep at night and if you do, do you dream and see the small faces of the animals who have trusted you and licked the hand which dealt them death?

Or have you found a way to justify, to reason away, what you do?

And if your deeds cannot be reasoned with, what then?

You eat, you play, you may even love someone or something. Or think that you do.

But you died long ago when you found it paid the bills to play God.

as told to
George Beaumont

Note: The name 'Jim' is an alias to protect the unstable. Dr. T.P. Johnston, DVM, is actual and was, until late last year, in private practice before starting a new career at the Shelter. The author, writing under a pen name, is a free-lance, part-time photographer.

Please don't litter; spay and neuter. Feral dogs and cats are a problem created by the neglect of people and it is my dream that one day every domestic animal born will be anticipated and wanted. Broward County needs to emulate the Miami-Dade shelter model of 'no-kill' and, if the powers that be refuse, then let's turn the shelters over to new management such as BSO. We need to close factories of death and hopelessness; concentration camps for animals who are begrudged even the small space on this planet they occupy. Adopt from your local shelter and help save the animals.

Let's let Bootsie's sad end motivate you to action and let her name be the rallying cry for reform in the future of animal control!

You can be a hero and give a loving animal one more day.

Broward County Shelter

Alley Cat Allies

Fund For The Animals

The Animal Rescue Site

The International Society for Animal Rights