Play me again, Sam

I am a sucker. There is an unwritten law that says I must fall in love with homeless kittens. Here I go again.

Meet Bogart. At least that's what we are calling him right now, because we are fairly sure it's a male. Bogie was found a couple of days ago by my friend under the fenderwell of her dad's Mustang. He was hiding, scared, but friendly enough to let her snag him and get him into the cat carrier. She called me, distressed because she couldn't keep him, and wasn't able to find any of the neighbors who might have lost a kitten. Bring him on over, I said.

He's a delight. We've been keeping him in my bathroom, with a blanket of his own and a litterbox, water and food. I'll take him to the vet to be checked out in the morning, to make sure he's not got anything to spread to the other cats.

Dan had him out laid up on his chest while he watched tv this evening. The little guy just curled up and purred like he's been here all along. Melt my heart, why don't you, guys?