The day a five-kilometre jog turned our life in a new direction

One year ago today, Maila and I embarked as we occasionally do on a modest five-kilometre run along a rural road near our home. 

Little did we know at the time fate had other plans in store for us that would not only alter the course of that day, but arguably our lives. 

We live in a subdivision on the edge of our little town, and we couldn’t have made it more than one kilometre, just barely on the outskirts of the boundary with the county, when something on the road ahead caught our eye. 

Our initial impression upon seeing a small black lump just about in the middle on the road was a dead bird that must have been struck by a vehicle. Wouldn’t have been the first time.  

As we drew closer with each step, however, we quickly came to realize that not only was this tiny black ball not a bird but this helpless creature was most definitely not dead.

Certainly on death’s door, but for the moment still clinging onto life. 

Stopping our jog without a second thought to take a closer look, we could hardly believe what we’d stumbled across. 

A tiny black kitten that couldn’t have been much more than a couple of days old – umbilical cord still sticking out from its belly with eyes sealed firmly shut, a small tear of blood trickling out from the left one. 

All but motionless, yet clearly breathing.

Maila gently scooped him off the road and cupped him in one hand, and we wondered what we should do. 

Being quite the committed runner who’s completed multiple marathons, she suggested we finish the rest of our five kilometres. 

Considering the condition he was in – though we did not yet know that he was a he – I dismissed the thought and said he immediately needed help. 

I could scarcely believe he was even still alive! How he’d survived that long on a rural road, let alone how he ended up there, was a mystery to me then as it remains now. 

While he had looked all but resigned to his fate when we found him, a second wind seemed to revive him when Maila picked him up and he suddenly started mewling. Although it sounded more like a desperate squeak.  

Reluctant to run home, which would have shaken him around with uncertain results in his weakened state, we instead opted to walk at a brisk pace. We hadn’t gotten far anyway, so getting back didn’t take long. 

Shortly after returning home from our aborted five-kilometre run on April 22, 2024 following our fateful encounter with this little feline.

Without the means to provide proper care, we saw no other option than to take him to the vet. We called first to see if they could offer a rescue service, and we were told that by picking him up off the road, he’d effectively become our responsibility. 

We were driven primarily by an instinct to do what we could to give him a fighting chance. We figured once he was out of the woods and his odds of surviving had improved that we could then find him a new home. 

After all, we already had three cats and a fourth seemed a rather overwhelming proposition. 

But since we couldn’t bring ourselves to abandon him to such a cruel fate, we for the time being decided to do what we could. 

The vet looked him over and said that despite signs of dehydration, he all things being considered seemed otherwise all right. After injecting him with a solution to rehydrate him, the vet imparted us with some advice and on the way home we picked up some KMR – kitten milk replacer – and applicators to feed him.

So began a new adventure of nursing this tiny little kitten that was no bigger than the palm of our hands. 

Maila felt a wave of emotion when the little guy first began to hungrily drink up.

Early on, Maila came up with the name Roadrunner, or Roadie for short, since we found him on the road while out for a jog. I immediately agreed.

She conducted some online research to learn more about providing adequate care, which involved keeping him toasty warm – itself quite a task since we don’t typically set the heat much past 18 degrees Celsius – as well as regular feedings every two to three hours. 

Roadrunner developed quite an appetite along the way.

I would help out when I could during the day, but she took on the night shifts. 

For the first few months, we even meticulously weighed him and kept a log to record the time we’d fed him along and whether he’d peed or pooped.

Getting him to pee was easy enough, but gently rubbing his belly in an attempt to void his bowels was challenging and we began to worry when he wasn’t pooping despite drinking so much milk. His little belly seemed so bloated and Maila started fearing the worst. 

Some tears might have been shed. 

So there was a moment of pure jubilation when he finally passed that first movement. I never would have imagined myself celebrating the sight of an animal defecating onto a square of toilet paper aided by our hands.

But after stressing out for a few days over what we’d feared was a blockage that could cause complications or worse, we were absolutely thrilled. Although he was undoubtedly more physically relieved, we were certainly metaphorically relieved.

In the back of our minds, we still thought to find him a new home and had put out the feelers. My brother and his wife know some folks who run a rescue, and it wasn’t until a while later we heard they were very surprised to learn the kitten had not only survived but even begun to thrive. 

Before long, he started awkwardly hobbling around and became more mobile by the day. 

Watching him take his first steps was a heart-warming experience.

And as the weeks melted away into months, we realized the extent to which we had developed such a deep bond and eventually decided we’d never be able to part with him. 

So now, we’ve got four cats. But that’s it though, no more! 

We’ve got our hands full. 

And that goes for the other three cats, who are quite a bit older and already in the fairly chill stage of a feline’s lifespan, whereas he’s only one year old and still bouncing around running around the house and chasing the others with what can seem like boundless energy. 

Above: An early restful moment with Sylvester, left, and Jerry. Since Roadrunner became a mobile bundle of boundless energy, the others have often found themselves less-than-enthusiastic participants in roughhousing. Below: But they also still enjoy plenty of naps together with Panther.

We’ll never forget that fateful run and whether we’d have even found him had we left earlier that day, as we usually did, or even later in the afternoon, by which point he would surely have already perished. 

We’re not sure how many of his nine lives he used up that day; any number of vehicles might have narrowly missed rolling him over, exposure and dehydration could easily have finished the job, and scavengers like crows or coyotes would have found an easy snack. 

Yet even if he only has the one left, we’re glad and grateful for the opportunity to have been able to offer him an extended lease on life, as in exchange, he’s enriched our lives in more ways than one.  

And although we’re probably anthropomorphizing, we like to tell ourselves he feels the same way. 

Whenever we come home, whether we’ve been gone for a spell to grab groceries or for the weekend, he’s there eagerly waiting for us at the front door, jumping up with outstretched front legs and purring up a storm the moment we pick him up.

Roadrunner is a purring machine — turn up your volume for this one if you don't have it on.

Bundled up and snoozing after a snack.

Roadrunner has grown up fast, and we can't help wonder how much bigger he'll become.