Sunday, 04 November 2001 | Rescue

Uh-oh. I didn't mean for this to happen.

It was just a random series of events and decisions and it could've happened differently or not at all (I've retraced my steps and wondered what if I had done this instead), but, in any case, there's a one-pound gray kitten curled up in my living room at the moment, probably peeing on the couch and launching fleas, but I don't care. It was hiding beneath some railroad ties and might've gotten flattened, or, at the very least, had batches of kittens of its own one day, so I did the right thing (...right?). Intermittent yelps that sounded like a crow (or was that a cat?) and the next thing I know, I'm standing in red mud far past a No Trespassing sign, and Martin is running after a wobbly gray ball of fur. By now she's had a proper bath, received a name (Amtrak), eaten turkey, drunk milk, fallen asleep, and woken back up again. I'm not going to get attached. Really.