Molly was the mother of those four unfortunate kittens, and I adopted her and her surviving sons, Samson and Trooper. Trooper did contract distemper, but after losing his four siblings and my own cat, Milligan, within the space of two weeks, I'd had enough. I took a week off work and spent my time cuddling and force-feeding Trooper until, against the odds, he recovered.
For the first few days of her stay, Patches did little more than lay under my coffee table and avoid eye contact. This wasn't surprising considering the fact that her original family had dropped her off at the shelter after twelve years, claiming that they were moving out of province and could not take her along. With a good diet, arthritis medication and plenty of TLC, Patches soon had a new lease on life. She slimmed down, stopped limping, and preferred running to walking. In spite of many admonishments, she insisted on climbing up onto the sofa and drooling profusely on the cushions. Patches was with me for two months before someone noticed her on the "Special Needs" section of the Humane Society web site and arranged to adopt her. Although I was sad to see her go, I was thrilled that her story had a happy ending.