Back in September, I picked a pathetic starving and injured kitten from the side of the road.
Neither Robb nor I really expected him to survive, but we spent a lot of energy and money on trying to bring him back to health.
Now, three months later, he's a frisky, funny ball of fluff.
For a cat who lived on the streets, probably dragging his legs behind him, after having his pelvis shattered, he's completely trusting and happy. He's not one of those animals who bears the scars of his previous rough life. Despite his earnest facial expressions, he's about as content a cat as one could imagine. It's only his eyebrows and his dark little mouth that make him look worried.
However, someone should probably tell him that this paws-in-the-air thing is totally unconvincing. Only little kids dressed up as animals in the school play hold their paws like that.
Please pay no attention to the dusty rug. I've been in the middle of packing and moving my portion of a seventeen thousand square foot warehouse. And as soon as we'd moved all the stuff, I managed to get sick.