When I was a teenager, we trapped a pregnant semi-feral cat. There were complications, and her kittens ended up being delivered by C-section. One kitten looked a little "underbaked" and was not expected to survive. The veterinarian had managed to resuscitate him, but he had no reflexes and I was advised to take him home and "let nature run its course". Instead, I had a family friend show me how to tube feed him and give him subcutaneous fluids. By the next day, he had started to move and drink from a bottle.

At five and a half days old, he opened his eyes for the first time. I was holding him in the palm of my hand. Squinting and half blind, he reached for my face. I moved in a little closer, and he latched on to my nose and started kneading my cheeks. It was the first time I heard him purr, and the point where I started to believe that he might actually survive.

He'll be fifteen in a couple of months. It's been a wonderful ride, but something about that moment will always be special to me.