Thursday afternoon, tragedy struck. I woke up from my afternoon nap and turned on my side only to see blood pooling in several spots around my pillow. My first thought is that my cat has entered her first heat, but then I realize something. There's way too much blood. My cat jumps off the bed and I rise only to see splatters of blood literally all over the room-- on my AC unit, my blankets and sheets, the carpet, even inside my laundry basket.

It didn't take me long to realize where the blood was coming from: my cat, Icarus.

Now, Icarus is a flighty and spry young thing, only five months old but full of energy. When she hurts, she lets you know, but not this time. When she cut herself her first instinct was only to curl up beside me and let me sleep. I don't know what cut her exactly, but she simply limped up to me and looked at me with those pure, innocent eyes. She didn't even direct me to the cut, seeping blood on the floor, just closed her eyes and leaned into my touch.

From the moment I saw the cut I knew it was bad. It's as if everything finally started to connect--the blood splatter, her matted fur and leg raised high. The cold sweat enveloped me as I laid her down, forced her to let me inspect her wound. She let me, even as the wound continued to weep onto my sheets. I could see the muscle writhe between the severed flesh, the terrifying whiteness of her bone.

I've never been any good in stressful situations, but this instance takes the cake. I called everyone I knew who had a car, everyone I knew who could watch Icarus while I got my own car to take her to the vet, but no one would answer. The numbers in my recent calls list grew and grew until finally I called the only other person I knew who could help me. My mother.

My mother lives hours away but even still, she walked me through the process of stopping the bleeding and making sure Icarus was okay. When the call ended there was only one person left in my suite, someone I had never had a conversation with before in my whole college career. Tears were streaming down my face as I asked her to watch my cat so I could sprint to my car, which was a mile off campus. She did, no questions asked.

This isn't the only instance of kindness from a stranger that I witnessed that day. When I had to leave Icarus at the vet it was as if my whole world was shattered, but the community around me worked quickly to pick up the pieces. I posted a small blurb on my side blog stating that I wouldn't be writing or updating for a while--my cat needed me, and I needed her to be okay.

The support I received from the community was tremendous. Within seconds my inbox filled with a plethora of people wishing Icarus and myself well. The notes on my blurb hit five, ten, twenty, not even counting the private messages.

Now, this is the humbling moment. One person, on anonymous, offered to send money to my PayPal account to help with Icarus' vet bills (which was around $300 USD after everything was said and done). I accepted gratefully, expecting a donation of around 10, maybe 15 dollars. What shook me to my core was the amount that showed up in my wallet minutes later. $150 USD.

Someone I didn't know, a stranger who only knew me through my writing, cared enough about me and my girl to cover half of her bill. If it wasn't for this person, this wonderful anon, I wouldn't have been able to afford Icarus' treatment.

But because of the kindness of this anon something amazing happened today--Icarus came home.