I have a cat. He’s an idiot. I found him years ago, before I was vegan, in a barn in Wales. I’d heard him crying as I walked past. It sounded like a bird or something. He was still crying an hour later when I walked back. I picked my way into the dilapidated old barn. There were brambles growing over the floor. Picking his way through them as he made his way to me was the tiniest, most perfect kitten you’ve ever seen. His blue eyes were open, but a bit wonky through lack of experience. He had exquisitely symmetrical markings — charcoaly -grey, with a white bib like a tuxedo, and white paws. And a little pink nose. I stooped down and he curled up in my hand. I waited a while to see if his mother returned. But she didn’t. And I had no idea how long he’d been there.
I took him to the farmhouse where I was staying. I’d just arrived. I knocked at the door and the upstairs window was flung open. ‘You alright?’ asked a surprisingly cockney lady.
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