On July 11, 2025, I found this tiny furball in the middle of a busy road in upstate New York. She was only about four weeks old, so I rushed her straight to the vet. That’s when I learned both of her back legs were broken, and amputation was being recommended. I was given a few options: euthanasia, surrendering her to a special needs shelter where they might amputate or put her down, or taking her home and committing to weeks of intensive care. There was no question in my mind—I chose to care for her myself. I didn’t trust anyone else with her life, and I had already fallen in love. For the first week, I fed her liquid formula through a dropper until she was strong enough to eat on her own. I bathed her nearly every day while her legs healed, as she couldn’t control her movements and often soiled herself. It was exhausting, but I was completely committed to her recovery. Today, she’s fully healed—no amputations needed—and as feisty as ever.