Growing up I always had a really soft heart when it came to animals, I hated seeing animals in pain.
There were these neighbours that were on the farm living there, and they had two cats, one named kitty and the other renamed to embany.
The wife moved out, leaving the cats there till the next day, and when she was gone for the night, he bashed the two of them.
I went after kitty first because he was worse off and bought him back to the dairy, where it was cooler and quieter for him. He ended up having a broken leg.
Embany hid in the attic of their little shed, and pretty much turned feral for the time, so I lulled him every day with food and milk to encourage him to trust people again. They both lived to a ripe old age, sadly emaby (I kept him as no one else wanted him anymore) passed away this year in his sleep. He was approx. 12 years old.