gemfyre | *squeeness*

Something pulled at the hem of my cloak; and as I turned, thinking to find the elegant cashmere snagged on the remains of a paling, I found that I, too, had been accosted by a lady desperate for food.
A very little lady...
There, on the pavement, almost indistinguishable against the dirty snow, a cream kitten sat with the claws of her chocolate-colored paws entangled in the material.
With a cry of disbelieving delight I swept her up off the snow and examined her beneath the yellowish light of a gas lamp. She was caked with filth but her breed was as unmistakable as it was inconceivable. There were no Siamese cats in Europe, and yet I held one in my hands, a rare and precious jewel dropped from heaven into the landscape of hell.
Of course I knew she could not possibly have dropped from heaven. Some enterprising French traveler had evidently succeeded in smuggling a breeding female from the palace at Bangkok, knowing that the Empress Eugenié would be prepared to pay handsomely for such a unique animal. Everywhere rich ladies would be clamoring for a similar novelty; no doubt the man had expected to make a fortune.
But the empress had fled and the rich were now eating their fine-blooded racehorses. No one was interested in acquiring another mouth —only in that little extra something for the cooking pot. Dead cats had become a fashionable substitute for flowers and sweets as a gift for a sick friend; boiled cat, served with pistachio nuts and olives, had become a delicacy for connoisseurs. I could well imagine the horrible end which had overtaken the mother and the rest of her litter.
But this little creature was born to survive; I could see it in the irrepressible impishness of her crossed blue eyes. Fate, which favors some against the longest odds, had brought her soliciting to a man who would have died of hunger before he separated her from her lovely pelt. Tucking her safely beneath my cloak, I hurried through the streets with fresh purpose in my step.
Ayesha changed my life. Over fifteen thousand kilos of salted horsemeat had been stored at the Opera, and supplies were not yet entirely exhausted. I could not bring myself to consume horseflesh, but I stole for Ayesha and stayed out of the room while she ate to control my revulsion. There were plenty of rats in the cellars, and within a few weeks she had lost the scragginess of starvation and grown sleek and contented. She followed me around the secret house like a puppy and sat beside me while I worked. I could not wait for the day when she would be big enough to wear that Persian collar. To see her strutting in its stolen magnificence would be a pleasure beyond imagination. She was my amusement, my joy, the chosen companion of my solitude. If there had been no horsemeat and rats, she would have eaten human flesh; I would have killed, if necessary, to feed my precious, precious little lady...

Awwwww.