Why’s everybody always picking on me? Haven’t I been a good kitty, putting up with the eye drops and the chicken slop and minding my own business? Apparently not good enough: I was sleeping too much and eating too little.

Two days ago, Mom stuffed me into a plastic box and hauled me out of the house. She took me to the same place that the Birmingham police did when they found me, skinny and flea-ridden, nearly two and one-half years ago. Once there Dr. C. poked and prodded me and pried open my mouth. I was taken away, x-rayed, stabbed (more than once), and put in a cage with this long plastic tube attached to my front leg. Then I realized: Mom is lost!

I waited a long time, wondering what had happened to Mom and why she left me here. Finally, I found her. There she was at the door of my cage, talking to me and petting me. Then I lost her again. She keeps coming back once in a while, but she does not stay “found” or take me home.

I promise to be a good kitty! Please rescue me!