This reminds me of something that happened many years ago.  The girl next
door, who was probably 14 or 15 at the time, used to feed my cats Taz and
Herbie (both RB) when I went away.  One day she knocked on my door and said,
"What color is Herbie?"  I was puzzled, because she knew very well that
Herbie was black and white, but I just told her the colors.  She then
gestured to a car that had pulled partway into my driveway and said, "That
lady has something to tell you."  When I went out to the car, the driver
said that a black and white cat had been hit by a car on the next street
over.

My house is on the corner, backed up to another house, so the next street is
not that far away.  I immediately went around and found a few people
standing around a parked pickup truck.  I was told that a black and white
cat had been hit by a car and then had run under the pickup truck.  I looked
underneath and could see that the cat had crawled up onto the undercarriage.
I called and tried to coax him out, but he wouldn't come.  Finally, a man
went underneath the truck, brought him out and handed him to me.  He seemed
to be both frightened and in pain.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and of course the vet's office was closed.  As I
walked home, the mother of the girl who had come over came out to see what
was going on.  I told her the situation.  She said her vet sometimes had
Sunday hours.  She called and found out that he was in his office.  She
drove me there, so I could hold Herbie on the way.

The vet examined him and said he probably had a broken jaw, but he'd have to
x-ray to make sure.  My neighbor had to get home, so I called my son and
asked him to pick me up at the vet's office.  He was about half an hour
away.  While I was waiting, they put Herbie in a cage in the back room of
the office.  They let me go back, and opened the door of his cage.  As soon
as I spoke to him, he came to me and snuggled up against my hand.  I stayed
there, petting him and talking to him until my son arrived.

My son came back and petted him briefly, then he took me home.  On the way
home, he said, "Are you sure that was Herbie?  The markings didn't look
quite right."  When we got home, we found Herbie on the couch.

I called the vet and explained the situation.  I said I'd still take
responsibility for the treatment, unless or until the owner could be found.
(He hadn't asked me to pay anything yet.)  I put up notices and went door to
door, but never found anybody who claimed the cat.  I would have taken him,
but Taz was young and rambunctious.  I didn't think it would be fair to
bring a cat with a broken jaw into an atmosphere like that.  The vet found
Herbie II a good home.  He never did charge me for treating him.

Joy