Don Gato

The ladies at the office found a wee, feeble kitten in the back by the shed. Whether the kitten was abandoned by its mother, or its mother was unable to return, we do not know. The ladies brought the kitten in and put it in a cardboard box. They hoped they could salvage it. Herself took a peek into the box, and saw the minuscule kitten form, smaller even than Tiny Dog, resting limply there. So sad. Herself provided a blanket (she keeps everything in her car, just in case).

The kitten reminded us of James the guinea pig.

Ah, James. Although you did not live as long as venerable ancient cavy Moose, you nevertheless reached a respectable old age, and then slipped away as your kidneys failed.  Herself still remembers how she held James, wrapped in a small blanket, as he faded; under her fingertips, she felt the slowing of his heart, the beating replaced by a fluttering, and then by an eternal quiet. Godspeed, James.

Tiny kitten. At least you are safe and warm for now. I cannot help. My heart has already broken for you.