He tiptoed closer, turning on his camera. "December 4th, 1989, 4:00 PM, eastern standard time. There seems to be a small, fuzzy, black lump lying by the stove," he narrated softly.
The creature looked up with bright yellow-green slit eyes, and mewled pitifully. Mark said, "It seems to be a cat," and turned off the camera. He set it gently, quietly down on the table, hoping not to startle the cat. Far from being afraid, the bedraggled feline stood and prowled over to him. It wound around his legs, purring. He reached for it, and it let him pick it up. A glance told him it was male.
"You poor thing," he said. The cat's ribs and spine were painfully obvious, and his fur was matted and filthy. "How'd you get in here?"
The cat purred as Mark ran his fingers over his back. Frowning, he walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. Grabbing the tin of tuna that was the last of their food, he quickly opened it and dumped it on a plate. He carried the plate of tuna and the cat to the couch, sat down, and let the cat eat.
Mark watched the feline eat delicately, and lick the plate clean. Then it looked up at him pathetically.
"Sorry, but that's all I have," Mark said. The cat meowed. Then it curled up on his lap and went to sleep. Mark grinned. "You are adorable." The cat's ears moved, but nothing else did.
Careful not to disturb the cat in his lap, Mark turned so he was spread out over the couch and joined the cat in slumber.