I didn’t want a kitten.
I didn’t need another pet, already having several dogs, cats, ferrets, rabbits and birds in the house.
However, going to work last week, I spotted a small kitten running in traffic. Thinking it would get smashed, I stopped and ran into the street to shoo it away. Usually feral kittens will take off and disappear. This kitten, however, did not run away. This kitten was friendly and wanted to be picked up. So I did.
She was a starving little thing, bloated from worms, mites in her ears and fleas. But she was also affectionate and clearly wanted to be with people. Since it was late at night and I was on my way to work, there was no place I could drop her. I ended up taking her with me, keeping her in the restroom until my shift ended. Luckily, we have cat food on site for the wild kittens that hang around, so she was fed. After eating, she waited patiently in a small box with a few rags to be taken home.
No one wanted a sick kitten, of course. But she was so sweet, I couldn’t turn her away.
So now I have another cat. She has been named Cassie.
Oddly enough, the kitten reminds me of a proverb I reference in my current WIP, Her Amish Blessing: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.'”
With her oversize ears and big eyes, Cassie kinda looks like a little angel, don’t you think?
Got a story to share about your own little furry angel? Feel free to share!
Love this, and those are really distinctive ears! I don’t have a kitty tale, but I’ve got a story about Rufus. I watched a man throw him out of a slowly moving car out in the country. The jerk sped off and the poor little dog chased his car until it just ran out of breath. It took me three days to catch him (took some gourmet turkey from a local deli–this was Sonoma Co. wine country, after all so it was really GOOD turkey!) but I got him home, bathed him to get the cow poop he’d rolled in out of his long hair (he was a terrier mix of some kind with long silky hair that turned out to be very blond when clean) and he promptly bit my husband when Doug walked in the door that night. Turned out he was terrified of men (for good reason) and anything with a handle–brooms, yardstick, shovel–which led us to believe he’d been hit with all of them. We never searched for his owner. After a couple of weeks when no signs went up, we took him to the vet, got all his shots, had him neutered, and took him home. He was about 18 months to two years old, and we had him for another 17 years. He was an absolute sweetheart and, as he grew older, spent most of his time in the bed in my office, sleeping beside my recliner where I wrote. Sometimes the ones we find when we’re least expecting a new addition become the very best of friends.