It’s actually a bit of a relief to crawl into the shade under the house. The day is warm for late October, and the sun is bright and glaring.
I leave the cat carrier behind. There’s no sense trying to get the animal inside it in this tight space.
I army crawl about ten feet under the porch until I’m close enough to make out the small animal’s features with the flashlight. Definitely a kitten. It backs farther into the corner, but it doesn’t arch its back, hiss, or defend itself in any way. It might be weak from hunger or dehydration.
“It’s okay, little guy,” I say in a soothing voice.
“Did you get him?” Aiden screeches.
The kitten turns and tries to scrabble up the cinderblock foundation to get away. I’d be willing to bet that kid has terrorized this cat at least once.
“Hush,” I say in the softest voice I can manage. “No more talking.”
Aiden huffs in annoyance, but the mother soothes him in a quiet voice.
“It’s okay,” I coo to the kitten. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe and kid-free.”
I wait until the kitten stops trying to climb the wall, then reach out and grab it as gently as I can. The kitten tries to twist free, but gives up quickly. The poor thing is exhausted.
I cradle it to my chest and roll onto my back, using my heels to propel myself slowly out from under the porch.
As soon as I emerge into the daylight, Aiden shouts. “Kitty!” and lunges for the small cat on my chest.
I roll onto my side, blocking his grasping hands, and push up to a stand as fast as I can one-handed. “No touching,” I say firmly.
The boy stares up at me, his small face flushing red with anger. “I want to hold the kitten.”
“Can’t he just hold the kitten for a minute?” his mother asks. There’s barely a question in her tone.
“No,” I say. “This kitten is a stray and could have any number of diseases. It’s also in a delicate condition health-wise. I don’t want to risk any injury to it or your son.”
“I’ll be careful,” Aiden says.
“No.” I set the kitten in the cat carrier, using my body to block Aiden from reaching past me and grabbing the kitten, and start toward my truck.
“I didn’t get to hold the kitty,” Aiden wails.
I keep walking. Aiden is now his mother’s problem.
“We’ll go to your aunt’s house later,” Mrs. Simms says. “You can hold her cat.”
“But Warrick always scratches me when I hold him.”
I am not surprised.
I settle the kitten in a compartment in my truck, give it water and a tiny bit of food, and head out. I don’t know how long the kitten’s been without food or what it’s used to eating, so it’s always best to start off small.
Unfortunately, our animal control office doesn’t have an on-site veterinarian. Our small town is growing, but it’s been hard to find skilled vets who want to live in a smallish university town in the mountains of southwestern Virginia.
Locals drive over an hour to the next town to get their pets seen. A trip I’d rather not make at the end of my shift.
Which leaves me with only one option. I call our local large animal vets. Their receptionist, Cassandra, answers on the third ring. “What have you got for me?”
Cassandra has all the animal control officers’ numbers programmed and knows when we’re calling. “Stray kitten. Might be sick, malnourished.”
She humphs. “When you going to go back to school and get that veterinarian’s degree? We sorely need the help.”
I have told just about everybody I know how much I want to be a veterinarian. It just seems to come up in conversation. AndI really can’t let go of the dream. “Around about the time I win the lottery.”
