GavrocheGavroche was a small cat, already three, but looking a lot younger. His fur was ginger, and soft, making it a luxury to even stroke.
It was incredible, really - how he had come to be like this since the place he first lived. He was born in something that almost resembled a shed - swarming with fleas, and the poor kittens were scratching all day. He remembered the tiny morsels of the supper left behind, thrown on the floor and left for the cats to squeeze in through all the hassle of cats attempting to at least gnaw on a little bit of chicken, or duck.
He could also vaguely remember the owner of the place, a little, actually, drunk. There was also a maid, she hated cats, and looked in her mid fifties, with greyish white hair pinned up in a bun. Then there was the owner's son, Evan, who sometimes kicked the cats if they were in his way, or even just sleeping.
It would have been a miracle for a cat to be flea free, and actually have clean fur, or their thirst quenched. But no one ever wanted to buy them because of their scraggy, dirty appearances. If only they had known what was under those scruff balls. But nothing ever happened to these poor cats. Nothing at all. Until Sunday 4th May, 2013. That was the day that changed little Gavroche's life, and maybe even the other cats lives, forever.