You can't change yer nature. I hate bluejays - miserable little snitches always trying to spoil a hunt. But when I found two stupid little squawky ping-pong ball sized, gape mouthed beasts under a maple tree in our yard, didn't I just box then up and raise the fool things for a month on my back porch, all the while cuffing my two cats upside the ears when they got close. (The co-op suggested Tang & peanut butter as a baby formula - worked fine). I even went out and dug worms to drop into those perpetually opened beaks. For years after, Wilbur and Orvil would return and stand there gaping and squawking on the back porch railing when I went out. I hate bluejays.
There's just something hardwired inside our heads that says "help the weak - unless you're hungry".
I'm sure that's how cows, sheep, horses, pigs, dogs and cats came into our houses. Who would put up with a human infant if there wasn't some involuntary mechanism to keep you from strangling the living sh*t out of one of those screaming, smelly ox snots?