I want to tell you about one of our feral cats I have
named Precious. She was not always precious, just
a face in the crowd—we feed seven wild cats; we
came home from Michigan and she was crippled
walking sideways and we still don't know what
happened to her. Was she sick with fever, a fall
from a tree, hit by a car; she acted like her back
was broke some how.
She was acting like she would check out—but she
has made it so far and shows she is a fighter and is
battling back—I just saw her playing in a pile of
brush practicing her clawing and front paw dexterity
on a twig branch.
I noticed one black kitten has a mustache like little
whitefeets, only smaller—two perfect white dots
under her nose. I named her Stash
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“All you do is head straight for the grave, a face just covers a skull awhile. Stretch that skull cover and smile”
—— Jack Kerouac from his novel, 'Visions of Cody'