Page 19 of Pack Scratch Fever
At first, I think it’s a bird, but then I remember it’s two in the morning.
“Is that a baby?” Maddox asks, frowning and turning his head to the sliding glass door in the kitchen.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Maddow follows me as I head out of the room and to the kitchen.
Four different furry faces are pressed against the glass door, their tiny mouths open and crying.
“Oh, shit,” Maddox and I say at the same time.
More kittens.
“The rescue said this could happen,” I say cautiously, standing in front of the glass.
“Well, shit, what do we do?” There’s a hint of worry in Maddox’s voice, which makes me start to panic. “Why are they crying?”
I shrug, my eyes wide. “Maybe they’re hungry? I don’t know.”
“Well, we don’t have any cat food! Don’t they have a mom?” Maddox demands. “Isn’t she supposed to be feeding them?”
“We don’t need to freak out,” I say shakily. “It’s fine. There’s only four of them.”
We watch in horror as two more kittens come up to the glass.
“What the fuck!” Maddox yells. “What the fuck do we do?”
I stare at the little mouths, bewildered. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“Why are they crying?” Maddox demands. “Where is their mom?”
“Maddox,” I snap. “I don’t know.”
“Well, fuck that,” he says. “We need to help them.”
“It’s two in the morning; I’m not sure what we can?—”
Another furry face pushes its way into the crowd, and my jaw drops.
“Oh, fuck this,” Maddox says. “We have to call her.”
I look at him. “That’sinsane. We don’t even have her personal number.”
Anotherkitten shows up behind them, a blur of white running in the background.
“I’ll find it,” Maddox snaps. “It’s not that fucking hard to find it—what thefuck!” He flips on the light to the backyard. “Oh, Poe is going to bepissed.”
A large adult white cat with fat cheeks digs furiously in Poe’s precious herb garden against the back fence, then rolls around in the dug-up soil.
I’m grateful my packmate’s not home. That herb garden seems to be the only thing that has brought him any semblance of peace recently.
“Yeah,” I murmur, convinced our life has turned into some comedy, “find her phone number.”
Another adult grey cat stands on its hind legs and presses its paws against the glass door, leaving smudges.
I sigh.
It’s going to be a long night.
