Quick story: about a month ago, my inlaws discovered a cat, huddled inside their backyard shed. Even though the family dogs went right up to the cat, it didn't move. My mother-in-law's first thought?
Kittens. And she was right. The mommy cat was guarding four little kittens, only a day or two old.
They left the cat alone, but when they went back for another look the next night, the mom and one of the kittens were gone. Three little kitties were tucked inside an old box, trying to keep warm on a chilly October night. They had been abandoned, and would probably die, unless someone intervened.
Enter my mother-in-law.
Understand, she's not a cat person. Never was, never will be. But she adores animals in general, and couldn't stand to let three little babies die. Animal shelters won't take kittens until they're 6 weeks old; they don't have the time to spend on each individual animal. So my mother-in-law bought some formula and started hand-feeding the little things from a medicine-dropper. She did this, every four hours, for
several weeks, even though they weren't sure whether or not the kittens would survive. That, in my opinion, is compassion in its truest form.
The kitties are about 4 weeks old by now. They're getting bigger by the day, and we've found homes for all three of them (one is going to my dear friend, Hilary!). They are absolutely the cutest things, and I told them that I'd take them all in, if they promised not to get any bigger. They didn't promise, so I'm not taking them. And besides, Marty hates cats. Literally. Hates them. (Cats feel the same way about Marty, which might have something to do with it.)
Here are a few pictures of the little dears:
Um, yes, that would be Marty's hand, holding the little girl. He's still a softie at heart ;)
See the two snuggling in the background?!
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