Rescuer of Hearts

Here is Finnegan, the day I brought him home from the local shelter.  This is the only angelic picture I have of him. 

Twenty-four hours after bringing home my eight-week old floofy bundle of joy, Finnegan started to act as if he was choking.  His little noggin would turn a bit to the side and he'd make terrible choking noises.  Scared me to tears, having lost my best Elmo kitty a few weeks previously.  A trip to the vet revealed that my little guy had lungworm.  I had to squirt white medicine into his little mouth twice a day.  Bless his little heart, he hated it but he forgave me every time. 

Forty-eight hours after bringing him home, little Finney started sneezing so hard, he'd rock back on his hind legs.  Seven, nine, twelve giant sneezes right in rows.  A second trip to the vet revealed a severe upper respiratory infection.  In addition to the white medicine, I now had to squirt brown medicine into his mouth and put nosedrops into his microscopic itty-bitty-kitty nose holes.  I had to put on my granny glasses to help improve my aim.  Poor little guy, he hated it but he still forgave me every time.

About a week after I'd brought little Finney home, he was BOINGY BOINGY BOINGY-ing like a nine-week old kitten.  The technician at the shelter called me that week to find out how everything was going with my new little friend.  After telling the tech about Finnegan's bouts with lungworm and respiratory infections, the tech said to me, "Well, now.  You've saved his life three times in one week.  You rescued him from the shelter, you saved him from lungworm, and you saved him from the respiratory infection."

I replied, "Well, that may be true.  But he has saved my broken heart."