Page 3 of Fruit
That’s probably not a good thing.
“Yeah, I’m—”
The cat meows again. I’m immediately distracted, getting back on my knees to look into the darkness. I notice my hair is scraping along the ground.
Honestly? Whatever.
“Is that a cat?” the guy asks, taking a step towards me. I hold my hand up, stopping him.
“Don’t come closer. You’ll scare it,” I say.
He stops, but despite the sound of the rain, I hear him mutter, “I’mgoing to scare it?”
I ignore him.
“Okay, Don Basura,” I tell the cat. “Let’s get you out of there.”
I inch my hand under the dumpster. I can see the kitten now, huddled in a ball with its stringy tail curled around its legs. Its wet, grey fur makes it look like a drowned rat.
It looks right at me. Not even my nearing hand, but my eyes. I freeze for a moment as it mewls softly. There’s a depth of intelligence there. Of knowing the world already and how wet and cold it can be.
“It’s okay. I know. It’s okay.” I’m sure it’s going to scratch me. I would, if I were the cat. But it doesn’t. It watches my hand slowly approach as I press against the dumpster to reach the trembling ball of fur. My fingers grip the scruff of its neck as gently as they can. I pull him out.
The cat meows in protest and I hunch over it to protect it from the rain. It’s probably not the brightest idea, to press the scared and wild kitten to my chest and neck where it can dig its nails in, but it barely moves. I can feel it shaking now, even though it’s not cold.
Suddenly, the rain stops. I look up, confused, and see the mystery guy has crouched beside me, getting half-soaked as he puts the umbrella over me.
“I’m already wet, idiot,” I say, pushing his umbrella-wielding arm away. He frowns at me but returns the umbrella over his head.
I tilt my head down towards the cat. I don’t like the way it’s barely moving.
“I think there’s something wrong with it,” I say.
“Come on. My car’s right there,” he says. I squint my eyes at him suspiciously.
“And why am I getting into your car, exactly?”
“I thought you might want to take it to a vet, exactly.” His delivery of the phrase is so deadpan it takes me a moment to realise he’s sassing me.
“It’s the middle of the night. How many vets do you know that’re open right now?”
“None, but have you heard about this thing called Google…?”
“Okay, asshole,” I say, getting up, my body still curled protectively around the cat.
Getting into a strange man’s car in the middle of the night? Patently a bad idea. Probably one of the worst ideas you can have. The guy’s attitude, however, has calmed some of my misgivings.
I might also be too tipsy and soaked to care about being murdered right now.
“You try anything, and I put the heel of my shoe through your head,” I tell him anyways.
“Noted,” he says with the flat tone of sarcasm.
His car is parked right in front of the alleyway. I throw the guy a look. He’s tall and broad and could overpower me in a second, heels or not. The car beeps awake, and I pause outside the passenger door. The guy looks at me for a second before folding his umbrella and getting inside the car. I take another second before getting in.
I’m a fucking idiot and my life is a mess.
I close the door after me. The sound of the rain is immediately muffled. In the glow of the streetlight, in the darkness of the car, the moment is otherworldly. I look at the guy. He’s peering down at his phone, his face lit up by the screen.
