Cat On A Hot Tin Roof

His name is Blackjack. Found as an infant squalling under a bush, all alone in the night. No siblings, no mother, just a tiny black kitten all by himself. My friend brought him to me and I washed him, for he was very dirty, and I scrubbed him, for his rear end was covered in fly debris which left on him would turn into maggots that would eat their way out of him and kill him. Starving, too soon separated from his mother. I took him to Wal-Mart at 11pm and bought kitten formula and a plastic syringe. And I fed him and soothed him. Soon he was walking around but then he developed a bloated belly and hardcore diarrhea. Homeopathic medicine took care of that...and he grew into a scraggly youngster with very thin fur and crusty eyes who slept with a blankey and cuddled and fought with his "baby" (a floppy dinosaur given to him by my boss). And still he kept growing...into the tall, lanky mischievous cat he is today. He still carries scars from his infancy. He bites and scratches because he fought so hard to survive that he hasn't lost that toughness...and he never will (like others before him who were taken away from their mothers too soon). He reminds me of Dennis the Menace - gets into trouble and always comes home with cobwebs or something all over him. Where does he go? He loves to get up on the roof via a tree limb but can't figure out how to get down, so I rescue him with a ladder and then his high, thin, panicky wail stops and he looks content. Saved once more.