In the Cradle of the Altruist

   The subway station at rush hour looked like a raging mass of humanity. Hundreds of strangers waded shoulder to shoulder attempting to catch a sip of the stale tunnel air. I tightly held my best friend's hand to stay on the surface of the endless human flow; nothing but the dirty trampled floor under my boots. I turned my head around looking for something to put my gaze upon. Instantly, my eyes found the gypsy merchant with a row of golden teeth; she had the torn cardboard that obscured something moving behind it. In the shadowy gloom appeared the kitten's emaciated silhouette. After a second, I found myself staring at the spark of life in disheveled fur. His eyes spoke a pure ferality, and an undercurrent appeal was crying for help.

"Hey, don't be a gaper!" my best friend said. He grinned and pulled my back forward.

"Vadim, do you think the kitten gets a proper nursing?" I remained immovable.

"He's from these stray cats who won't trust you."

"He seems very lacking," the kitten pathetically meowed pointing his large ears.

"Excuse me, is he sick or something?" Vadim dared to ask the gypsy.

"Young man, the kitten's the best quality one. Cross my palm with silver," she revealed her broad smile.

"Don't trust her, she wants to get rid of the last. He looks feeble and would bring you an inevitable heartbreak!" he asserted.

"Get a cardboard box, bunch of diapers, and a bottle of antiseptic from the pharmacy. I'll take him home. By the way, his name is Tim."

   Vadim unwillingly submitted to me and broke into a run to buy the items. Ten minutes elapsed, the baby orphan gained his desirable escape in my embracement; we put him in the brand new box and joined the flow approaching the platform. I felt his presence; even this miniature lump of life was hiding beneath the diapers. I knew I had to endeavour to save his fragile life.

"We'll be late today," I hollered through the train's noise.

   Sun already sank lower in the sky, when we arrived at the closest animal hospital. It had been an hour since we picked him from the former owner. Tim's recent clean diapers turned to the crumpled vomited snippets.

"He has a panleukopenia as a consequence after these unexpected guests," the doctor showed me a louse on the computer screen "First, you should buy the list of treatments and insulin syringes. Second, nine out of ten cats die; I'm sorry, but you have to know the statistics."

   My kitten leaped with the sudden spring of a tiger trying to escape from the invincible box while I was carrying him home, holding a bag filled with medications. My family had no judgements about my deed. Every day we gave him medicine, nursed from the pipet, and muffled up in blankets lulling to sleep. I negotiated with God, but He chose to leave Tim a week to appreciate the beauty of life. He died after seven days from the lethal injection that diminished his agony.

"If you tried to save his life you are capable of saving another. This makes you ambitious; my little" dad touched my trembling shoulder "At least, he died in the cradle of an altruist."