It was a nice April afternoon when I was coming back from university and heard a tiny "meooow" coming from the trash next to the train station. After a quick look around, I saw this tiny cat-shaped monster moving inside a shoe box, crawling and crying desperately: I'll never understand how someone could think of leaving such a tiny kitten like rubbish, sentencing it to death. I didn't hesitate a second and put it in my jacket trying to keep it warm during the journey home.
I immediately brought this tiny bundle of life to the vets: it was a boy, between 7 and 10 days old and needed a lot of prayers. They asked me if I was thinking of keeping him, knowing my family and me already had another cat and a dog and of course I said yes, so they showed me how to feed him and help him at each step of his growth.
They kept him at the clinic for a few hours to give him the first assistance and give me time to go buying everything I was going to need for this cat-nursery adventure.
They weren't too positive about him surviving, but that same evening he started fighting like a tiger. I named him Oliver Twist and as he started growing he made it clear that was the best fitting name: a foundling who wasn't going to give up and surprise you.
It was the most intense month I can remember, but worth every alarm in the night to feed him (just in case he didn't wake me up, as he literally had the voice of a lion in the body of a kitten!).
And now he is a beautiful 4 yo cat, still a little monkey that makes a mess as you look away and that thinks the world was built for his own fun, but also the most loving cat I've ever seen. He really sees me as his own mum, I think, he trusts me completely, to the point I sometimes wonder he is even a cat!
Italy, Italy
