Took the kitten to the vet today and the results were startling, to say the least. The vet says he's two months old, less than one pound in weight, and if I hadn't seen him when I did, he would have certainly died within hours. She said she couldn't believe he was alive at all. He had virtually no blood pressure, a bad upper respitory infection, no mites or fleas so was probablly what she dubbed an "indoor torture toy" for the schmucks who tossed him out the window in the first place, and I also saved his vision by unsealing his eyes when I first got him. She had an adopted cat who was blind for exactly the same reason. So, thank you, powers that be, for putting me in the right place at the right time to witness the little tike winging out of the SUV. They gave him antibiotics, an IV of fluids, blood tests said he doesn't have feline leukemia or AIDS and drops for his eyes. He is already amazingly improved and even tried to haphazardly play with a bit of string on the floor about an hour ago. A life, any life, is so precious and I'm so damn lucky to have seen him, and so lucky to have my dear friend Beth drive me to the clinic (North Shore Animal League, you ROCK) and my roomie for setting it up in the first place. Now I have to stop typing because a certain straggly furball is begging for another syringe of baby food! 'Night.