Page 67 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I furrow a brow. “Agenitaldefect.”

“You know, something that was there when he was born.”

I laugh. “You mean congenital defect.”

“Yeah.”

I watch intently as the kitten wakes, sees Maisy, then rises and hobbles over to her. I look at the kitten’s details on thelaminated sign. He’s been here almost a month. Longer than most of the others. It says he’s four months old and a ‘mixed breed.’ The kitten is almost fully yellow with one white streak along his left side, as if a painter dipped a brush in white paint, went to paint a stripe, then got distracted and messed it up. It looks almost like one of those heart monitor stripes, a horizontal line that then goes haphazardly up and down along its side. I’ve never seen one like it. Apparently neither has Maisy. Either that, or she prefers a kitten.

The teen doesn’t miss Maisy’s reaction either. He gestures across the way. “If she’s interested in smaller cats, we have a six-month old over there that might suit her.”

I get Maisy’s attention and point to the other cat, who still looks a bit kitten-ish, seems to have a perfect gait, and is standing at the edge of the cage as if anticipating Maisy’s arrival after having seen her greet all the others.

Maisy ignores my gesture and goes back to the yellow kitten. Ellie elbows me. “She wants this one,” she signs.

Unsure, I ask the worker, “Can we get this one out?”

He cocks his head. “Really?”

I can almost hear the thought in his head:you want this damaged one?

“Yes, really,” I say, maybe a bit too harshly. “She wants to see this one. Is that a problem?”

“Uh, no.” He opens the cage, retrieves the kitten, who looks more than happy to be getting sprung from captivity, then asks us to follow him.

Maisy doesn’t give any of the other cats a glance. She skips along next to the teenage worker, keeping an eye on the kitten, watching over him protectively as the worker leads us back through the door and into a playroom.

I’m not sure Maisy knows what’s happening. I point to the floor. “Sit down,” I sign. “You hold.”

Her eyes bulge. She bounces up and down then plops down cross-legged on the floor. Excitement flows out of her as the teen places the kitten in her lap. I’m a little scared for the furball when Maisy pulls him tightly against her chest, but the cat purrs, seeming to love the attention. Maisy must feel the vibration. She looks surprised and then her hands run up and down the kitten’s body.

Ellie and I look at each other and smile.

A vet comes and talks to us while Maisy plays with the kitten.

“I’m pleased to see someone interested in this one,” she says.

“Maisy is already in love,” I tell her. “Can you tell me about his leg?”

“He has an angular limb deformity. Present at birth most likely, but as it became more pronounced, I suppose the previous owners didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Will he be okay?”

“He’s a happy, well-adjusted kitten. It hasn’t hampered his ability to walk and play, but as he ages he’ll most likely be more sedentary and he may develop arthritis. Other than that, he’s like any other kitten.” She turns to Maisy. “You like this one, young lady? I can tell he really likes you.”

When Maisy doesn’t look up, I tell the vet, “My daughter is deaf.”

Surprise crosses her face for an instant before it’s replaced with a smile. “A match made in heaven then.”

I regard Maisy and the cat.Is it?Is that why she chose this one? Because he’s ‘different’ like her?

“We’re getting this one,” I tell Ellie.

She nods. She understands. No more words are needed.

The teen brings me more paperwork to sign, and a half hour later, we’re ready to go.

“Let’s go,” I sign after tapping Maisy to get her attention.

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