That’s what T. told me after I dug into a burning pile of branches to rescue a kitten yesterday. The two week old kitten lost his whiskers, and I have a little burn on my hand, but we’re fine.
E. and I were frantically pulling out branches from the lit pile, trying to find the crying kitten. Just as I thought, “we’re going to lose this kitten,” he tumbled out, and I snatched him up.
I tried finding his mother. I tried getting someone else to take him, but only for form. He’s mine, and his name is Charr.
He’s currently going everywhere with me in this bag. Tactical cat. Or concealed carry cat.