On Friday night I found a little black kitten curled up under J's jeep. As I bent down to coerce it out from under its hiding spot, it began to stretch and yawn. Finally, taking three or four big steps, and leaving half of his being far behind him, he started to warm up. Meowing and chatting up a storm. We bonded.
Against my husband's better judgment, I ran inside to grab a can of tuna fish. When I arrived back outside the little black kitten was no where to be seen. Sadly, I packed up my tuna and headed back inside.
Before bed I poked my head out the window one last time hoping to catch another glimpse of my little friend. He was on the side of the driveway, facing the house, with something very strange in his mouth. Poor little field mouse crossed a hungry feline that night. Pushing back thoughts of poor Stuart Little being snatched up and gobbled by Tinkerbell, I still managed to think, at least the kitten had something to eat.
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