I saw him from a few blocks away. He was just a crumpled furry lump, slowly drifting towards the sewer. He was abandoned, alone, and upside down. I checked over my shoulder at the curb as I drove past, and knew he had to be saved. I made a circle around the block, and parked right next to the sidewalk. He was dirty and had a hole down his back seam. I carefully looked over him, hoping I hadn’t picked up someone’s crack holder or needle safe (unfortunately not uncommon for this neighborhood). His neck ribbons were smashed, and his fur was matted with gunk and nastiness.
I set him in the chair on my porch, to let him settle in and relax from his ordeal. Meanwhile, I readied his bath (making sure to use extra detergent). After his heavy spin wash, he was thoroughly dried. He didn’t complain once as I stitched up his back, making sure to hide his painful scar. He was finally repaired, clean, and ready for a name. It was the first and only name that came into my head. Gazpacho. He knew how close he had come to his end, and he was grateful for my kindness. He now spends his days traveling on Charlie’s imaginary bus, and enjoying many long tea parties with his new friends.
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