Driving home this evening (don’t tell anyone: it’s not insured yet), I saw a scrawny siamese kitten by the divider, lifting her head to stare at the headlights. She was soaked, of course, and too weak to stand; I could feel each vertebra. Took her home and tried to feed her (out of sight of Fluffie, Who is a jealous Cat); but now she was too weak to lift her head. (Had I picked her up too roughly?) So I looked for a vet that was open late. “Hi, I found a cat in the street and it’s too weak to eat, what should I do?” “Well, would you like to bring her in for an exam?” So I went; but she died on the way. I rather fancy she breathed her last just as I thought of a name for her.
Now I just hope I didn’t rescue any fertile fleas.