After tending to the dreadful wound on his head, al-Zill showed great improvement. The severity of his neurological damage grew less with time.
But not entirely.
Still, when he shakes his head, he becomes a marionette under the control of hands plagued with seizures; when he stretches, his body caves in to demands of the mind that make little sense in the physical world; and when he leaps and runs, flailing limbs oft times leave him a bag of bones ripe for attack.
To make matters worse, he already has adopted me. He all but lives on my patio, taking refuge each night in the cat carrier I placed there for his protection, awaiting my arrival each afternoon and my awakening each morning so that we might visit together, leaping into my lap at every opportunity, rubbing against my face with his head, kissing me, playing with me, and otherwise being family to me.
As Mom asked the other day, how could I leave him here, leave him to life at the lake, leave him to the whims of others who might not be as caring, as loving, as understanding, as kind?
The answer: I can’t.
No doubt remains in my mind as to his ultimate disposition. He will join The Kids in due time. Soon.
Few would take on such a responsibility. Few would tolerate such a needful life. Few would give to one who requires so much.
But I would.