He was no bigger than her hand and just four weeks old, too young to be properly weaned. She chose him for his rambunctiousness – and for his pink nose that was entirely too big for his face and made her smile. She swaddled him in an old towel, flipped him unwillingly on his back and coaxed the bottle between his tiny, razor-sharp kitten teeth. “How could anyone be so heartless as to drown a litter of helpless kittens,” she thought as her new companion settled into slurping the milky formula. She had wanted a kitten for months, but her boyfriend had convinced her to wait until he moved in. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now, but at least she had the kitten – more dependable than any long-distance romance. They would save each other.
In the witching hour, outside the bedroom door, sat a fat cat with fine vocal capacity who, for reasons unknown, determined he must come inside. The girl, who was lying in her warm bed, decided, after much deliberation, to acquiesce and allow him entrance, while the cat, upon gaining admission, jumped on the bed, made exactly 14 biscuits on the fuzzy green blanket, turned around three times counter-clockwise, settled down and promptly went to sleep until the alarm woke them both at 7:30 the next morning.