So I went in the kitchen to see what we had. A can of chicken broth was all I could find, so I poured half the can in a styrofoam bowl and put it out for the cat, then went in where I could observe through a window.
A little charcoal gray kitten about Cuthbert's age was lapping up the broth like there was no tomorrow. She was plump and well taken care of, it seemed. Either she wandered off from the neighbors across the field or she had just been dumped.
I went out again. She seemed to be meowing for me to do something, but she wouldn't come to my hand, and I couldn't chase her through the bushes. So I left her the broth and went home, but it doesn't feel right. If she's gone tomorrow, then may God look after her: see her home and find her one. If she's still there, I'll try and do something for her.
I came home to find Sassafras wanting attention and Cuthbert all cuddly.
collinsmom was zonked, though, so I couldn't talk it over with her. Sigh I hate being put in this position. My heart goes out to the little hungry kitty, but I can't make it all right. There's just so much in this world you can't make right.