We found Mr.Yao in a hollow under a tree, after hearing him cry for three days in a row, and a few unsuccesful attempts to locate him following the sound. When we finally found him shivering in his hole, this poor baby was completely exausted and famished. He couldn't be more than a week old, since his eyes were still closed. We started feeding him right away with a mixture of warmed goat milk and water, as advised by a veterinarian, who also told us that his chances for survival were rather slim.
Mr Yao, as we called him (Yao meaning something like "Auch" in Serbian) required our permanent attention, love, and warmth, and one of us had to cary him tucked in a pouch at all times. During the night we kept him in our bed, and were rewarded with being pissed upon, and worse. There was not much sleeping since he had to be fed every two to three hours, and we were afraid of crushing him while asleep.
After about a week, his eyes finally opened wide, and he went right away to explore the garden, uneasily wobling on his tiny feet. After two weeks, the veterinarian proclaimed that he was out of the woods. Since we had to leave Italy and go back to LA, a friend decided to adopt him (thanks again Sara).
It happened in August 2007. I found these forgotten shots a few days ago.
Mr.Yao is now an adult in good health, and has turned ferral, as most village cats do. I saw him several times from afar, but he wouldn't let me get close enough to photograph him.