Page 40 of Out Of A Fix

“Then?”

“She got really excited about plates.”

“Remember what I said about not knowing about people?”

He nodded.

“Maybe her grandmother had that set when she was little, and having a full set now allows her to relive all those good times they had.”

“Yeah, okay. That makes it better.”

I smiled at him, and he bumped me, as was his way.

Later, Tatum came and sat with me on the porch as the boys manned the busy table.

“I gave a girl my old Hello Kitty lunchbox, just gave it to her, and she cried, Nash.”

“Did that make you happy?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, then lunged at me.

I held her tight and rocked her a bit, and there was a lot of sighing and awws from the people around us.

The kids were excited, because by the end, we got rid of everything. I had no idea that could even happen. We gave the guys who came to pick up the tables and tents forty bucks, and the rest went in a jar under the kitchen sink, along with a mechanical pencil and a folded piece of paper. It was the slush fund, and everyone could go in there, but you had to write down what you took money for and what was left in the jar. This plan was met with furious clapping. We went out for dinner because no one felt like cooking, and decided that from then on, Saturday would become our designated splurge day. It was a good plan.

On Sunday, we all went grocery shopping so we could then prep food for the week, and in the store parking lot, the worst thing in the world happened. A small, long-haired, all-black kitten, except for white feet, white whiskers, and white ear tufts, came running up to Darwin. The tiny creature basically screamed at him and proceeded to climb his leg up to his waist.

“No,” I said. “His mother’s probably looking for him.”

“Okay, everybody split up,” Griff directed. “Let’s find his mom.”

Which was not at all what I meant but who was I kidding? Like I would leave a kitten alone out in the big scary world.

Fifteen minutes later, as I was sitting in the Jeep, thankful it was a cold forty-seven degrees out so nothing would spoil, with a kitten snuggled up in my jacket, Griff came running back with a sobbing Tatum and a sniffling Darwin bringing up the rear.

“Oh no,” I groaned, getting out and kneeling so I could take her into my arms. “What happened, love?”

Darwin, who’d been crying as well, explained that the mother was dead, along with three other kittens, and that it looked like something had gotten them. Probably coyotes.

I was going to say, if it was coyotes, they would have eaten them, but I didn’t. That information would be in no way helpful.

“Okay,” I told Tatum, moving her out to arm’s length. “That means this is destiny.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes.

I passed her the kitten, who immediately winked at her, and then asked the boys where the mom and the others were. Griff said he would go with me, and after grabbing a towel from the back of the Jeep, we collected the cold but not yet stiff little bodies and wrapped them up. Griff held them in his lap, and I went back into the store and grabbed a covered litter box, litter, kitten food, flea shampoo, and a collar.

Once I was back, I was informed his name was Wink, and home we went. Darwin was in charge of putting groceries away—he had a system and a diagram of where everything went—while Griff and Tatum bathed the little bugger. I, in the meantime, buried the mom and her other three babies under the sugar maple in the backyard near where the citrine went into the ground. It seemed somehow fitting. They would all heal together under the stars.

Inside, Wink was being blow-dried with a Barbie hairdryer, which he apparently didn’t mind from the lack of struggling and crying. As soon as that was done, he was fed. The noises were a surprise as well. I didn’t know cats grunted and growled and whined when they ate. But of course this family would have a weird kitten.

They were worried he wouldn’t know how to use the cat box. But in a corner of the laundry room it went, and I picked Wink up and put him in. When he got out, I repeated the motion, moved his feet around in the clay litter, and then put him back once more. He then went to the bathroom.

“That’s it?” Griff asked, surprised.

“Yep. You don’t have to potty train a cat, you just show ’em where to go. One of the many reasons they’re so great.”

They were all impressed, even more so that he had no issue with getting up and down the stairs. He was not a tiny, newly born kitten. He ate wet food without issue and was leaping at the kids, trying to attack them immediately. But he was smart. He knew Darwin wanted to play and that Tatum wanted to snuggle and allowed both. He also knew to yell at Griff for food. As I watched him, the kitten stopped and gave me his signature wink.