When I was a young boy of 11 years, I came home one cold winter day on the bus.

As I was about to unlock the door to go inside I heard a little “meow”. My family had had outdoor cats, but none in a while. I looked down and I saw a tiny, and I mean tiny little kitten that fit in my 11 year old hands.

My father was dead-set against indoor pets. But, I knew this little kitten would die of exposure if I did nothing.

I snuck Jasper in to my room. She was so tiny and weak that I knew my parents wouldn’t hear her if I just kept my radio on.

I snuck her milk as often as I could and conspired with my young female neighbor (whom also had cats) to get her the food and litter (old shoe box as litter box) she needed.

Almost 2 whole months had passed and Jasper grew stronger, and more playful. And my father finally found her.

I had expected a monumentus spanking when he confronted me about it. Instead he asked me about the circumstances surrounding Jasper.

After telling him why I had done what I did, he sat there, thinking. Finally, he said that he would pay for her to be declawed and spayed. As a younun, I had only planned on keeping her inside for the winter, then keeping her outside after I knew she could survive the elements.

Of course, I went bat-sh*t crazy over the news that I could keep her with me, inside.

The life that Jasper and I had together was a short, but loving one. She was always sick. She had a skin disorder that caused her to scratch profusely. And she had problems keeping food down.

But, nonetheless, we soldiered on the best we could.

After 8 short years together, Jasper died in my arms at 4:28 a.m. the 27th of January 1997.

It has been over 11 years, and she has never left me.

Thank you Mark for letting me tell you, and others, her story.

Gary from IN