We have four cats that live with us. Today the weather was nice enough to open the front door and get some fresh air into the house. From left to right we have, Grover (he's the oldest, around 9 or 10 years old, I think), next is Smike (he's around 3), followed by Myles (he's around 10 months), and Stella (she's a bit younger than Smike).
All of our pets are rescued animals. Grover came from a city shelter. Stella grew up as a feral cat and was rescued by an older lady who subsequently passed away. We got her from our vet. We got Myles as a foster kitten, but fell in love with him. He was only a few weeks old and almost starved to death. He's up to about thirteen pounds now. Finally, Smike was only a few weeks old when we got him. He was found in the basement window well of an old house some people we knew were restoring. When they gave him to us, he had sores on his feet (we think something had been chasing him and trying to eat him). My wife fed him with a bottle. We were not sure at all whether he was going to survive. He is named "Smike" after the crippled boy in the Dickens novel, "Nicholas Nickleby."