Page 111 of Awakening His Daddy

“I saw her last night, and I think she was carrying a sock.”

“My sock!” Leo gasps.

We end up in front of the hall closet by the back patio door.

“I hope she’s okay.” I’m pretty worried about her because she’s meowing an awful lot.

“I’ll look inside first,” Daddy bravely offers. He opens the door and laughs softly. Laughing is a good thing. “Take a look.”

He pulls the door open, and there in the bottom of the closet is Winter, and she’s nursing three tiny kittens.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” I gasp but keep it quiet.

“I want to see— awww,” Leo says behind me.

“Look at you. You’re a mommy.” I pet Winter’s soft head, and she meows at me.

“I bet she’s hungry. I’ll go get her food and water.” Daddy walks away.

“How many are there?” Whit asks.

“I see three, oh wait. There’s a little one under her arm.”

“Four kittens? Oh boy.” Daddy puts her things down, and Winter gets up to eat.

The babies whine and cry.

“They’re so tiny.” I scoop up the biggest one. It’s an orange tabby. “They still look kind of wet.”

“She must have just had them.” Leo pulls out his phone. “It says that a mom cat will work to clean the kittens, but it takes time. They will look wet and matted in the beginning.”

I pass the crying baby cat to Whit who’s kneeling next to me. “Here’s a ginger baby for you.”

Whit snuggles the baby right to his cheek. “Who’s such a cute baby?”

I hand a black one with white socks to Leo.

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry.” He nuzzles it close, and he quiets.

“This one’s all gray.” I hand it to Daddy.

I reach in and take the tiniest one. She wobbles and sways while she tries to walk. She’s all white like her mommy, but not as fluffy. I have a feeling she’ll get there.

“Hi, cutie. I’m your daddy.” This little girl refuses to settle in my hands and keeps crying out.

“She’s a little princess, like her mommy,” Daddy says, and Winter back comes over. She starts meowing like the world is ending. “I think she wants her babies back.”

One by one the kittens go back into the box.

“Is that my scarf?! Oh, you little bitch,” Leo complains but pets Winter. She lies back down, and the babies find their way back to her.

“What should we name them?” I ask. “I think the white one should be Snow.”

“It’s perfect, baby.”

“The black one is Hermes,” Leo grumps.

“You name the orange one,” I tell Whit.

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