Curiosity didn't Kill the Cat - I did

Many years ago I visited a children's home in another country. I had some amazing times, and fell in love with the country and the kids. A memory-building trip, for sure. One of the kids had found a small, tired kitten and brought it home. About eight weeks old, he was dirty and skinny and spent his nights in an eight by eight garden enclosure. The kitten - he was a boy cat - had been there for a week or so. He certainly wasn't a mascot for the place. He received a little attention and little food. The only thing I saw anyone giving him was bread, but I suppose he must have received other food. There wasn't a lot of extra meat in the place. I think he was barely getting by. The staff shrugged when I asked them questions about the little guy. Don't know, don't care was how they thought of him. In short, he had a pretty low profile. My heart reached out for the little kitten, so when we next went to the grocery store I picked up a small bag of cat food. Up until this point, I think the staff could think of him as just passing through, a transient. But a bag of food meant that he was going to stay, one more resident in a crowded place. And every resident of the place meant work and expense. When I looked for him a few days later, he was gone. I found one of the staff to ask about the missing kitten. "What happened to the kitten?" "Oh, him? He's gone." "Where did he go? What happened to him?" "He's just gone. You won't see him again." Wink. "I took care of him." From his tone and demeanor, I don't think he meant that he had found a home to adopt him. I was afraid to ask for more information. And that was that. With a well-intentioned act of kindness, I think I killed the cat.