Dirty talking is another thing I didn’t expect I’d like to try, but the thought of Walker on the other end of the line, pushing me to the brink, is enough to send a rush of heat pooling in my belly.
Walker: I’d love nothing more than to watch, but first I want you to get comfortable doing it on your own and learn what you like so you can show me.
Walker: Think you can do that for me?
Birdie: I think so.
Walker: Good girl.
I swear, hearing those two little words again causes my brain to malfunction, leaving me thinking of all the possible ways I could please him next, just so I can hear them again.
I freeze when what sounds like a high-pitched meow drifts in from outside. I shake my head, certain I’m imagining it, until I hear it again, louder this time, and joined by others.
“What on earth is going on out there?” I mutter, rushing toward the front door to investigate.
When I reach the porch, I find a tattered cardboard box. As I peer inside my suspicions are confirmed: five little tabby kittens are inside. My heart sinks when I notice there’s no sign of their mama. That doesn’t mean they won’t survive, but they’ll need to be hand-fed and closely monitored if they’re going to have a fighting chance.
To my surprise, Nugget is in the box too, with all the kittens nestled against her for warmth. When she sees me, she lets out a sharp cluck, as if complaining about their persistent mews—most likely from hunger and confusion at not being fed.
I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Don’t look at me like that, Nugget. You’ve been a broody little thing lately, wanting babies—well, congratulations. Now you have a litter of hopefully healthy kittens to look after.”
If only she could feed them herself. Instead, this unexpected responsibility lands squarely on me, and carving out time in my schedule will be a challenge. Still, whoever left these kittens knew I wouldn’t let them down. This isn’t the first time strays have ended up on my porch, and I’d take this any day over finding them abandoned on the roadside—or worse.
An hour later, I’m on the kitchen floor, elbows-deep in bottles as frantic little mouths scramble for their first meal in who knows how long. After checking over all the kittens, it looks likeI have three spirited little ladies and two mischievous boys—all surprisingly healthy, considering they were taken from their mama too soon and abandoned on a doorstep. It’s a good thing I keep the hallway closet packed with rescue supplies, or I’d be in real trouble with five starving kittens and no backup plan. Now, if only I had a few extra hands to feed them all at once.
Despite her initial reservations, Nugget has fully embraced her role as a surrogate mama and hasn’t left the kittens’ side since I brought them in. She’s even let them burrow beneath her on a fuzzy blanket I grabbed from the living room to keep them warm.
“Look at you taking care of everyone,” I coo.
She’s definitely going to expect extra mealworms and shredded cheese after putting up with these tiny balls of fluff, and I’ll happily give them to her for being such a trooper. I honestly thought she might bail after meeting them on the porch, but she’s far more nurturing than I gave her credit for.
The kitten I’m feeding now has soft orange fur streaked with faint cream stripes, but despite his earlier cries of hunger, he seems more interested in battling the bottle than actually drinking.
I laugh as he swats at it with determination. “All right, little guy, let’s settle down so we can eat.”
I reposition him in my lap, keeping him snug against me, and exhale in relief when he finally latches on to the bottle.
“There you go,” I murmur. “You’re going to grow up big and strong, aren’t you?”
As he greedily guzzles his milk, I decide now’s as good a time as any to check in with my cousin Shep. He and his fiancée, Noelle, live in Pine Haven, Arizona, where he runs a world-famous honky tonk. He may be grumpy as all get-out, but I’ve been able to coerce him to adopt on occasion.
Birdie: The most stubborn yet adorable kitten showed up on my doorstep this morning. I think he belongs to you.
I send a photo of the tiny menace in my lap, bottle clenched between his teeth, eyes narrowed like he’s ready to throw paws if anyone tries to take his milk away.
Shep: No.
Birdie: But you’re a match made in heaven. He’s stubborn, has a permanent scowl, and pretends that he hates everyone—but secretly just wants cuddles.
Shep: The answer is still no.
Shep: We already have too many animals, thanks to you.
Birdie: There’s no such thing.
Birdie: For the record, if I find another Highland cow, I’m keeping my promise to Noelle and sending it your way.
Shep: I’d expect nothing less.
