About a week ago, I picked up this little kitten from the stalls beside my house. It was just the teeniest little thing, couldn't have been more than a month old. I had been completely torn over the subject for the longest time, and finally after a little nudging by one of the guys sitting there, I just sucked in my gut, picked it up and brought it home.

I washed it with anti-flea shampoo (that doesn't work but that's besides the point) and wiped it with a towel before feeding it and putting it in a small cage where it stayed for the whole night without moving an inch. The poor baby.

It, I think was a he, (we called him Tiny Whiny for the little time he was here), died sometime last night. He had already been unhealthy the day and had been having some sort of diarrhea since the first time he got him, which is odd because he gave him de-worming medicine, food and all. But I suppose it was just because he was just so small, probably seperated from his mother at an earlier age. He was really skinny which was expected really.

But I'd like to think that I did something good. At least the short time he'd spent here had been good. He had a nice, warm place to sleep, enough food and love and care and a name. It still a bit sad. I'll miss him and his grating whine.

Rest in Peace, Tiny. We'll miss you. Have fun up there with Sushi and Chiko and Chimmy and everyone.