I must have walked by dozens of sad, hungry street kittens in my nearly two years here. Perhaps it was inevitable that at some point I'd break.
A friend and I had just come out of a fairly useless interview with a legislator, and we were walking across the parliament grounds when we saw this little critter. She was all alone -- no parents, food or shelter anywhere nearby.
I stopped to take her picture and she came up meowing loudly, wanting to be petted. As soon as we tried to walk away, she followed. I think it was that desire for affection that won me over. After playing with her for a few minutes I called Chad and asked, "Were you serious when you said we should get a cat?"
His yes was tentative, and I was feeling pretty torn myself. But this kitty needed someone, and she'd found us. So we put her in a canvas tote bag and carried her home, trying to look nonchalant when the bag writhed and meowed in front of the security guards.
She didn't take long to settle in. Pretty soon she was wolfing down canned tuna and taking turns purring on everybody's lap.
She's about as big as a can of soda. She's skinny and flea-bitten and has myriad health problems. She doesn't even have a name yet. (Chad likes Susu, or milk, which is pretty cute, but I'm wavering because it also means "breast," and I don't want the other kitties to make fun of her on the playground.)
Whatever her challenges, though, it's pretty clear that she's home.