Starving Little Cat

For three days I've been giving this starving little kitty a can of cat
food and all the dry food it can eat. It's probably about three months
old. There's a noticeable change. At least it seems to have grown a
little. It's a cute little kitty. It's mother was nearby until I
started feeding it, then it disappeared. I guess the mother set the baby
up with a good home, then went on her way.

Little kitty likes beef flavor the best. She was like a ravenous lion,
growling and feasting this morning. Shes been around people so she's
fairly well tamed, but still acts like she would eat my fingers for a
snack. I know how the little kitty feels because when I was about
three years old my parents started starving me and beating me half to
death. I had to scrounge food from gardens and fruit trees to survive.
Some friends gave me food, but most people treated me like crap because
my parents told lies about me so no one would believe anything I said my
parents did to me. First through sixth grade I got a lunch at school
during the school year, but starting in seventh grade my parents didn't
usually give me lunch money, and the teachers wouldn't believe me when I
told them, because my mother told them she gave me money and if I didn't
have it for lunch I must have done something with it. Of course the
teachers believed my parents. On Sundays I could usually get a good meal
and if I stood up to soon after eating I would almost pass out, because
my body was tingling all over like it was trying to absorb a weeks worth
of nutrients from that one meal.

I'm half crippled because of the beatings my parents inflicted on me as
a child, and most people still don't believe me. From the time I could
barely walk my parents would tell me, come over here and have a sip of
this mixed drink or beer, and puff on this cigarette. If it wasn't for
booze I would have died from starvation. By the time I was six years old
I was an alcoholic and chain smoker. My parents had parties where they
ridiculed people for not drinking more or smoking more, by saying that I
was just a little kid and could drink more and smoke more than them.
People would drink more and smoke more and get sick then my parents
ridiculed them for not being able to smoke or drink as much as me. My
parents did things to me they should have gone to prison for, for twenty
five years to life. But they were upper middle class and lived in a nice
home and drove nice cars, and my father owned his own business and no
one wanted to believe what I said they did to me, not even the Police.

My parents went on vacation when I was twelve and I didn't know they
were going until I got home and they were packing. No one would tell me
why they were packing. Neither my parents or my sisters would say
anything to me. My clothes and suitcase was gone so I thought it had
been packed for me, but it wasn't in the car. I finally sat down and
watched everyone load the car, then when it was loaded my parents came
and stood in front of me and my mother asked my father if he wanted to
call the Police or should she? My father told her to. The Police came
and got me, and I stayed in jail for a week until they got back. The
food wasn't very good, but it had been a LONG LONG time since I had
eaten three meals a day and I actually grew from getting food regularly,
so I know how that little cat feels. I'm going to make a fat kitty out
of that little cat, and treat it better than my parents treated me.

When I was five years old my parents put me through a broken window pane
at a house and told me how good it was that I was small enough to be
able to get through the window to unlock the door. Over the years they
tried to get me to steal, but I wouldn't. My parents sexually abused me
and no one wanted to believe me. My father had a thick, hard rubber
strap that he beat me with that left marks for months, and before those
went away, plenty more would be put on me. My mother beat me with her
hands and fist until her arm hurt, then she would call the police and
tell them, come and get him, she can't do anything with me, just come
and get him. When I tried to tell the Police what my parents were doing
to me, they yelled "SHUT UP".

My father liked to pick me up over his head and throw me to the floor,
then he jumped around, jumped up and down, did a little dance and said,
"He Did It, He Did It, He Can Still Do It". He acted like he had done
something wonderful by being able to beat me half to death. He did that
a lot of times over the years. The last time was when I was around
twelve years old. I limped for a year after that. Also from that time a
piece of bone in my chin was broken and I could feel it move around when
I rubbed my chin.

So I'm half crippled, and I know what it's like to be hungry and
unloved. I'm going to make this little kitty fat and happier than I ever
was as a child.

You probably don't care about what I've written. I've found most people
don't want to hear about child abuse. My neighbors could have done
something when I was a child. I asked them for help and they told me it
was a family matter and they couldn't get involved.

My parents had money for booze, drugs and prostitutes, but always
complained how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. Even though I
mowed lawns, sold newspapers and TV Guides, they still complained about
how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. I made more money working
and gave it to them than they ever spent on me. They would find men and
women who were down on their luck and needed money badly, then they
propositioned them for sex, and offered to pay them.

My parents have long since died of old age and natural causes. I haven't
seen them since 1984. When I heard they died, I wasn't happy, I wasn't
sad, I was just dead inside. My parents ripped out my soul, threw it on
the ground and stomped it to death.

Been There wrote:
For three days I've been giving this starving little kitty a can of
cat food and all the dry food it can eat. It's probably about three
months old. There's a noticeable change. At least it seems to have
grown a little. It's a cute little kitty. It's mother was nearby
until I started feeding it, then it disappeared. I guess the mother
set the baby up with a good home, then went on her way.

Little kitty likes beef flavor the best. She was like a ravenous lion,
growling and feasting this morning. Shes been around people so she's
fairly well tamed, but still acts like she would eat my fingers for a
snack. I know how the little kitty feels because when I was about
three years old my parents started starving me and beating me half to
death. I had to scrounge food from gardens and fruit trees to survive.
Some friends gave me food, but most people treated me like crap
because my parents told lies about me so no one would believe
anything I said my parents did to me. First through sixth grade I got
a lunch at school during the school year, but starting in seventh
grade my parents didn't usually give me lunch money, and the teachers
wouldn't believe me when I told them, because my mother told them she
gave me money and if I didn't have it for lunch I must have done
something with it. Of course the teachers believed my parents. On
Sundays I could usually get a good meal and if I stood up to soon
after eating I would almost pass out, because my body was tingling
all over like it was trying to absorb a weeks worth of nutrients from
that one meal.
I'm half crippled because of the beatings my parents inflicted on me
as a child, and most people still don't believe me. From the time I
could barely walk my parents would tell me, come over here and have a
sip of this mixed drink or beer, and puff on this cigarette. If it
wasn't for booze I would have died from starvation. By the time I was
six years old I was an alcoholic and chain smoker. My parents had
parties where they ridiculed people for not drinking more or smoking
more, by saying that I was just a little kid and could drink more and
smoke more than them. People would drink more and smoke more and get
sick then my parents ridiculed them for not being able to smoke or
drink as much as me. My parents did things to me they should have
gone to prison for, for twenty five years to life. But they were
upper middle class and lived in a nice home and drove nice cars, and
my father owned his own business and no one wanted to believe what I
said they did to me, not even the Police.
My parents went on vacation when I was twelve and I didn't know they
were going until I got home and they were packing. No one would tell
me why they were packing. Neither my parents or my sisters would say
anything to me. My clothes and suitcase was gone so I thought it had
been packed for me, but it wasn't in the car. I finally sat down and
watched everyone load the car, then when it was loaded my parents came
and stood in front of me and my mother asked my father if he wanted to
call the Police or should she? My father told her to. The Police came
and got me, and I stayed in jail for a week until they got back. The
food wasn't very good, but it had been a LONG LONG time since I had
eaten three meals a day and I actually grew from getting food
regularly, so I know how that little cat feels. I'm going to make a
fat kitty out of that little cat, and treat it better than my parents
treated me.
When I was five years old my parents put me through a broken window
pane at a house and told me how good it was that I was small enough
to be able to get through the window to unlock the door. Over the
years they tried to get me to steal, but I wouldn't. My parents
sexually abused me and no one wanted to believe me. My father had a
thick, hard rubber strap that he beat me with that left marks for
months, and before those went away, plenty more would be put on me.
My mother beat me with her hands and fist until her arm hurt, then
she would call the police and tell them, come and get him, she can't
do anything with me, just come and get him. When I tried to tell the
Police what my parents were doing to me, they yelled "SHUT UP".

My father liked to pick me up over his head and throw me to the floor,
then he jumped around, jumped up and down, did a little dance and
said, "He Did It, He Did It, He Can Still Do It". He acted like he
had done something wonderful by being able to beat me half to death.
He did that a lot of times over the years. The last time was when I
was around twelve years old. I limped for a year after that. Also
from that time a piece of bone in my chin was broken and I could feel
it move around when I rubbed my chin.

So I'm half crippled, and I know what it's like to be hungry and
unloved. I'm going to make this little kitty fat and happier than I
ever was as a child.

You probably don't care about what I've written. I've found most
people don't want to hear about child abuse. My neighbors could have
done something when I was a child. I asked them for help and they
told me it was a family matter and they couldn't get involved.

My parents had money for booze, drugs and prostitutes, but always
complained how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. Even though I
mowed lawns, sold newspapers and TV Guides, they still complained
about how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. I made more money
working and gave it to them than they ever spent on me. They would
find men and women who were down on their luck and needed money
badly, then they propositioned them for sex, and offered to pay them.

My parents have long since died of old age and natural causes. I
haven't seen them since 1984. When I heard they died, I wasn't happy,
I wasn't sad, I was just dead inside. My parents ripped out my soul,
threw it on the ground and stomped it to death.

At least it all left you with a desire to take care of poor, hungry animals.
So, some good can come out of almost anything. You could have become a death
row inmate. Take care of your new kitty.....

On 07/20/2011 06:07 PM, Bill Graham wrote:
Been There wrote:
For three days I've been giving this starving little kitty a can of
cat food and all the dry food it can eat. It's probably about three
months old. There's a noticeable change. At least it seems to have
grown a little. It's a cute little kitty. It's mother was nearby
until I started feeding it, then it disappeared. I guess the mother
set the baby up with a good home, then went on her way.

Little kitty likes beef flavor the best. She was like a ravenous lion,
growling and feasting this morning. Shes been around people so she's
fairly well tamed, but still acts like she would eat my fingers for a
snack. I know how the little kitty feels because when I was about
three years old my parents started starving me and beating me half to
death. I had to scrounge food from gardens and fruit trees to survive.
Some friends gave me food, but most people treated me like crap
because my parents told lies about me so no one would believe
anything I said my parents did to me. First through sixth grade I got
a lunch at school during the school year, but starting in seventh
grade my parents didn't usually give me lunch money, and the teachers
wouldn't believe me when I told them, because my mother told them she
gave me money and if I didn't have it for lunch I must have done
something with it. Of course the teachers believed my parents. On
Sundays I could usually get a good meal and if I stood up to soon
after eating I would almost pass out, because my body was tingling
all over like it was trying to absorb a weeks worth of nutrients from
that one meal.
I'm half crippled because of the beatings my parents inflicted on me
as a child, and most people still don't believe me. From the time I
could barely walk my parents would tell me, come over here and have a
sip of this mixed drink or beer, and puff on this cigarette. If it
wasn't for booze I would have died from starvation. By the time I was
six years old I was an alcoholic and chain smoker. My parents had
parties where they ridiculed people for not drinking more or smoking
more, by saying that I was just a little kid and could drink more and
smoke more than them. People would drink more and smoke more and get
sick then my parents ridiculed them for not being able to smoke or
drink as much as me. My parents did things to me they should have
gone to prison for, for twenty five years to life. But they were
upper middle class and lived in a nice home and drove nice cars, and
my father owned his own business and no one wanted to believe what I
said they did to me, not even the Police.
My parents went on vacation when I was twelve and I didn't know they
were going until I got home and they were packing. No one would tell
me why they were packing. Neither my parents or my sisters would say
anything to me. My clothes and suitcase was gone so I thought it had
been packed for me, but it wasn't in the car. I finally sat down and
watched everyone load the car, then when it was loaded my parents came
and stood in front of me and my mother asked my father if he wanted to
call the Police or should she? My father told her to. The Police came
and got me, and I stayed in jail for a week until they got back. The
food wasn't very good, but it had been a LONG LONG time since I had
eaten three meals a day and I actually grew from getting food
regularly, so I know how that little cat feels. I'm going to make a
fat kitty out of that little cat, and treat it better than my parents
treated me.
When I was five years old my parents put me through a broken window
pane at a house and told me how good it was that I was small enough
to be able to get through the window to unlock the door. Over the
years they tried to get me to steal, but I wouldn't. My parents
sexually abused me and no one wanted to believe me. My father had a
thick, hard rubber strap that he beat me with that left marks for
months, and before those went away, plenty more would be put on me.
My mother beat me with her hands and fist until her arm hurt, then
she would call the police and tell them, come and get him, she can't
do anything with me, just come and get him. When I tried to tell the
Police what my parents were doing to me, they yelled "SHUT UP".

My father liked to pick me up over his head and throw me to the floor,
then he jumped around, jumped up and down, did a little dance and
said, "He Did It, He Did It, He Can Still Do It". He acted like he
had done something wonderful by being able to beat me half to death.
He did that a lot of times over the years. The last time was when I
was around twelve years old. I limped for a year after that. Also
from that time a piece of bone in my chin was broken and I could feel
it move around when I rubbed my chin.

So I'm half crippled, and I know what it's like to be hungry and
unloved. I'm going to make this little kitty fat and happier than I
ever was as a child.

You probably don't care about what I've written. I've found most
people don't want to hear about child abuse. My neighbors could have
done something when I was a child. I asked them for help and they
told me it was a family matter and they couldn't get involved.

My parents had money for booze, drugs and prostitutes, but always
complained how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. Even though I
mowed lawns, sold newspapers and TV Guides, they still complained
about how much it cost them to feed and clothe me. I made more money
working and gave it to them than they ever spent on me. They would
find men and women who were down on their luck and needed money
badly, then they propositioned them for sex, and offered to pay them.

My parents have long since died of old age and natural causes. I
haven't seen them since 1984. When I heard they died, I wasn't happy,
I wasn't sad, I was just dead inside. My parents ripped out my soul,
threw it on the ground and stomped it to death.

At least it all left you with a desire to take care of poor, hungry
animals. So, some good can come out of almost anything. You could have
become a death row inmate. Take care of your new kitty.....
After being a victim myself, I couldn't put anyone or anything through
what I've been through, or allow an animal to starve.

"Been There" wrote in message
...

I know how the little kitty feels because when I was about
three years old my parents started starving me and beating me half to
death. I had to scrounge food from gardens and fruit trees to survive.

Brevity snip.

It's wonderful that you're doing this for the kitty. There are support
groups on Usenet where you may find some comfort. Many people were abused as
children. It's so sad but it happens.