Rescued kitty, kitty to the rescue.

We rescued a kitten a couple months ago.
I know, I know. But it was for Ellie, mainly. We were leaving church, and Ellie was chasing Little Drummer Boy to the car. I saw something very small chasing Ellie. So I called to her, "Hey! What's that chasing you?" She spun around, mid stride.
There it was. The cutest little stray kitten ever was looking up at Ellie and meowing. I knew what was coming.
"Mom, pleeeeeeease! Oh pretty pretty pleeeeease can we keep her??"
"How do you know it's a girl?"
"Because I know. I looked, there's no boy parts showing." (and oh my goodness that was fast.)
Ahem. Here it is, my ace in the hole. "Well, I would say yes, but you know both Daddy and I are allergic to cats."
"But, Mom, if we rescue her, maybe you won't get sick, because Jesus wants us to be kind to animals."

Okay. So we brought the dirty, tiny stray kitten (whom Ellie christened Charlotte) home. She received milk, dog food, and a bath. I have heard cats don't appreciate the water too much. Let me tell you, it's all too true. Thankful that she wasn't full grown (I'm sure the scratch marks on my arms would have been a little deeper if she were) as I tackled the latter, I finally dried her off and watched her streak across the house.

A couple months into her stay now, Charlotte is an outside cat. Not quite full grown, she is fed once a day, but has been hunting recently for a moveable feast. Literally. I came home tonight and found a small rat on our front porch, Charlotte standing proudly over it.
A rat.
I had to squelch my urge to gag, and told her she was a good cat. She protected us from a potential rodent problem.
One good turn deserves another.