On Monday afternoon, right before I was getting ready to head home to prepare for Shavouth, a co-worker showed me a small black kitten that he had found. Evidently, the mother had been killed by a snake, and this kitten had been hiding among the rocks for 2 days...he'd finally coaxed it out, and now wanted to know what to do about it.
Nu....what was I going to do? It's about 3 weeks old, and needs to be fed with a bottle, but 3 days later, he's active, bright-eyed, hungry, and full of spunk. Angora trails him (I say "him" but we don't yet know what it is, really) around, watching him like he's one of her pups. Frankly, I could do without the extra stress, but I couldn't just leave him.
The same day that brought "Blackie" (doesn't have a name yet) home, I got a call from a neighbor saying that Yoda, our ginger-colored cat, was lying dead on his grass. No marks of violence or attack, just DEAD. That depressed me, because of our 3 cats, Yoda was the nicest. I guess I can be glad that we gave him 2 good years, and so forth. But it's depressing -- he was neutered and wasn't a fighter at all....everyone used to love to watch him play with the big dogs who came to the park near our house.