A little story about a very silly kitty.

When I got Tipper, in March 1995, he was one sickly little barn cat. He had so many things wrong with him, and I spent most of my savings at the vet to save his scrawny little life. My parents let me shop in their pantry or I might have just gone hungry.

He had ear mites, and several infections and couldn't eat regular food. I had to water down baby food meats and eye dropper feed him several times a day. I had to suction his nose and clean his goopy, nasty eyes. He looked mostly dead.

My roomate thought he WAS dead the first time she saw him, because I carried him around in a shoebox with a hand towel. He fit nicely and he seemed to be in pain if you held him or picked him up too much. She thought I brought a dead kitten to the apartment. He looked that bad.

Well. He got well and is still a trooper all these years later. But even though he outgrew shoeboxes he always feels safe and happy in them. It is like a security blanket. He doesn't mind if he doesn't fit. And if he can find one, you can bet he will be in it and sleeping soundly.