After gauging the age as somewhere between four and six weeks, I checked again for any sign of a mother or a nest and found none. Then I searched the web for a rescue shelter. Closed for the day, of course.
The kitten—a tiny calico, probably flea-ridden—stepped out of the shadow and looked up at me with sad eyes. My own words came back to haunt me:Maybe I’ll extend my sabbatical to a lifetime. Become a cat lady or something.
I looked heavenward. “Very funny. I’ve never had a pet before, and I have no idea what to do with a kitten.”
Even so, I couldn’t leave it out there, could I?
What if a hawk swooped in? Or a big dog jumped onto my patio?
I yanked at the door before remembering the sawed-off broom handle I’d placed in the runner to appease Nana’s anxiety about the safety of sliding patio doors in ground-floor apartments. With the help of a four-letter word, I removed the handle and opened the door.
The kitten backed away from me as if I might be a predator, but I scooped it up and hugged it close, fleas be damned. The little rascal nestled into the crook of my arm and began to purr.
“I don’t know what to do with you, though.”
The cat wiggled and mewed indignantly, as if to say, “Google is free. Make another search.”
With a sigh, I began research on cat ownership before looking down at my new roommate. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll probably take you to a shelter next week.”
The tiny creature gave an impossibly big yawn and promptly fell asleep. My resolve weakened ever so slightly.
At least I wasn’t talking to myself anymore?
Despite my aching muscles, I made a quick trip to the store for a litter box, kitten chow, and everything else necessary for my new roomie. I even got a bag of flour, not because I wanted to bake, but because one website recommended dusting the ground with flour so I could search for paw prints later to see if the mother came looking for her baby. The whole way to the store and back, I pondered the probability that one kitten would magically land on my enclosed patio. My conclusion? Highly unlikely.
More probable? Either Havisham or Salcedo had decided to prank me because I’d said I was going to be a cat lady. Havisham seemed the likelier culprit—I knew Salcedo still felt bad about the fallout from the glitter-bomb incident.
I texted the former to come over and then went about combing the kitten for fleas as a precaution and to double-check the search I made before heading to the store. I found none, which was good since it was too young for a flea collar. It—I had no idea if I was dealing with a he or a she yet—could eat canned food, though.
It ate as though it had never eaten before, then looked over its shoulder with a growl once it had licked the dollop of food clean from the saucer.
“What?”
An indignant mew was my answer.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been hungry, and Dr. Google says to give you only small amounts. Just in case.”
The kitten stalked out of the kitchen, its pointy tail pointing skyward, and sniffed its way across the living room. When the doorbell rang, it jumped straight up in the air and fuzzed out completely. I scooped the creature up and answered the door to see Havisham.
“I have thirty minutes before my bar shift begins. What do you want?”
“Havisham. It’s so good to see you, too.”
“Seriously, Stark. Time. It’s of the essence. The little stuff life is made of. Et cetera.”
“I want to know why you tossed a kitten on my patio.”
“What?”
She looked down at the miscreant, who was currently pricking me with its surprisingly sharp little claws. I put it down. “I made that joke about being a cat lady, and then I find a kitten on my patio. Very funny.”
Havisham frowned. “I didn’t do it. I haven’t had time for such shenanigans, although I kinda wish I’d thought of it now that you mention it.” She sat on the couch, and the kitten sniffed her ankles before climbing her pant leg like a tree and curling up in her lap.
Little traitor.
“You want me to believe that a kitten that’s barely old enough for store-bought food just magically appeared on my patio.”
She shrugged. “As you have seen, they have claws. They can climb.”
