“Should we go off the route for a while? To drive on backroads?” he asked suddenly.
“If you navigate, I’ll drive wherever you say, as long as it’s towards home.” I squeezed his hand.
“Okay, okay…let’s see…”
Soon after, I got us off Interstate 80 and we were soon cruising along a smaller road, the scenery pretty similar to the one near the rescue at home, even though we were still somewhere in Ohio.
There weren’t any cars around, and we chatted and sang along to some country radio station because it felt like a fun thing to do just then. When we didn’t know the lyrics, we made up some and giggled like crazy, just like we’d done as kids.
Suddenly, in the middle of some fields, River gasped. “Stop, stop!”
I managed to not slam on the brakes, but it was close. He was out of the car as soon as it stopped, and I looked after him for a few seconds before getting out myself.
“Oh yes, you really are, aren’t you?” he said, kneeling on the cracked black top. “Do you have siblings?”
I walked to him and peered over his shoulder. “A kitten?”
“Yeah, I…there’s one over there that didn’t make it.” He pointed further down the road, and I saw a black ball of fuzz lying on the road.
“Okay, I’ll take care of it if you stay with this one.”
“Thank you.”
I went to the truck—the better one, luckily—and found a shovel from the toolbox. There were other necessary items there, too, and when I saw a neatly folded blanket, I grabbed it as well.
“Babe, here.” I handed the blanket to River.
He cradled a tiny black and white kitten against his chest, and boy was the kitten loud. River was talking back to it, and they had a whole conversation while I tried not to break down at the sight of the black kitten.
I quickly crossed the ditch and dug a hole in the field. Then I went to pick up the kitten, not caring about the condition its body was in. The poor thing had been a living being once, and now, I was going to lay it to rest.
I was patting the soil over the grave with the shovel when I heard a sound.
“Babe? Come closer and listen.”
River came closer and stopped. I jumped to the road. The sound had stopped.
“Give me a minute,” I said quickly, then jogged to the car and grabbed my phone.
I found cat mother sounds on YouTube and went back. Then I pumped up the volume and played it.
“That’s genius,” River said.
“I’ve seen it done the other way around,” I murmured, then pressed pause so we could listen.
The tiny meows were back. The baby in River’s hands meowed, too. The sibling replied, and then—
“There!” River pointed.
I saw the dust ball looking thing in the luckily mostly dry ditch and went to pick it up. It hissed at me, which made me jump.
“Hey now, this is a rescue mission, stop spitting at me, kiddo.” I grabbed it by the scruff, and it did the kitten curling up thing. “This one is feisty,” I told River when I returned to him.
He gave me a knowing look. “Hissy?”
“Very.”
Chuckling, he held out a hand. “Gimme.”
