Most of my friends have 4 hairy legs or feathers.
I live with 3 cats: Mottle, a feral that came to live in my compost bin 14 years ago (and gifted me with 15 kittens before I finally caught & spayed her); Mimosa, Mottle’s first daughter (who has her own Facebook page (Mosa Lump Lump) about cat things; and Minou, my cartoon kitty who loves everybody, whose antics make me laugh and whose allergies drive me crazy for solutions.
Here I am with my nose buried in the soft fur of two of Mottle’s kittens, born in snowy March and discovered half dead, tucked in a cement block. Feather, who had enough strength to croak out a feeble mew was the one who caught my attention. Molly (short for Molecule) was cold as ice. I turned on the oven, rubbed them each vigorously while standing in front of it and before the evening was finished, they were both mewing loudly and wanting food.
Mottle accepted Molly that night and I slept with Feather on my chest under a down comforter. The next day I told Mottle that she needed to take care of her own babies; I’d already raised mine and now it was her turn. She agreed and admitted that she’d had a brain fart and left the kittens in the cement, forgetting to retrieve them. She conceded that indeed, they were her responsibility and promptly took Feather under the bed to her new hideaway.