A few months ago I found a cat in our hood. A black scrawny cat that puffed itself up and hissed at me. So naturally (eye-roll), my humans took it upon themselves to fatten her up. One early morning, as we passed by its residence – some holes under a restaurant terrace – to see if her scrawniness finished the beef in gravy that had been served the night before, we were greeted by a heartbreaking sight.

Under the holes, between flower pots, there was a tiny skinny grey kitten, barely alive, trying to warm itself up under the first sunlights of the day. My human tried to catch it immediately, but the sorry creature managed to hop into the holes, revealing that its front left limb had been completely destroyed by some freakish injury.

A few nights after this first tragic encounter, thanks to the guidance of the amazing Rita Jacobetty and to a real miracle, my humans eventually managed to catch the injured kitten. It was one of the three babies of the black scrawny cat we had been feeding. Fortunately, the other two kittens were feisty and about twice the size of the injured one. I guess there is no shame now in admitting that we were quite afraid of this small creature initially. I never knew that kittens can make such terrifying noises.

We rushed the kitten to the Associação Zoófila Portuguese (AZP), our trusted veterinary office that helps numerous street animals, where HE – as it was revealed to us – received immediate care. After a series of rather torturous daily sessions to treat the leg, it was decided to amputate it.

So here we are, with a three legged cat in our pack, looking like a little grey furry dinosaur.

The first days, I was so upset by this development, that I would cry spontaneously and insist on sitting in my human’s laps with my 20 kilos (and the excess “baggage” that I am supposed to lose over the summer). What kind of self-respecting former stray and descendant of keen hunting dogs would allow a furry critter to live in its den?

And this cat!!! This cat is no sweet and weak little kitten. Once he was set up in the South-West wing of our residence, he took over the place like a mad emperor!

I still whine and throw tantrums, but it looks I will slowly have to resign myself to the realisation that the disabled kitten is here to stay. My humans even made me carry cat treat from the pet store. What a disgrace.