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ASPCA Animal Hospital.
“You’re kidding. Arman, really? Is that where we’re going?”
He grins at me, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Sure are. Come on, we have an appointment, and thanks to your ridiculous hotness, we’re late.”
Inside, a middle-aged woman with a cheerful demeanor greets us. She introduces herself as Molly and asks us to follow her, heading into a small room with a green felt floor. The space contains small toys, a scratch post, and a litter box.
“Take a seat on the bench right there, and I’ll go and fetch him for you,” she says. When she’s out of the room, I turn to Arman, unable to believe what’s happening.
“A cat? You already chose one?”
He nods. “Yes. I hope you won’t mind that I didn’t let you pick one out for yourself, tsvetok, but when you see him, you’ll understand.”
Molly returns and sits on the floor a few feet away, holding a cat carrier. She sets it down and opens the little mesh door.
“We haven’t named him.” She clicks her tongue, trying to coax the cat out. “He’s delicate, but he doesn’t appreciate that; the guy is crazy, forever running around and getting into trouble. We appreciate your willingness to take him on, Mr and Mrs Nechayev. You know, what with his…needs and all.”
A tiny meow grabs my attention. Large yellow eyes peer from a pale gray face, his pink nose spattered with dark freckly spots. He turns his ears to me and stares, cocking his head, and takes a couple of steps my way.
I sink to my knees on the ground, focused on the kitten. My excitement has given way to a sudden and complete understanding.
This kitten is different. He can’t walk well; he skitters like he’s on ice and has to stop and find his bearings every couple of seconds. He snatches a foil bauble and rolls onto his back, his white paws batting in the air, and I notice his beautiful eyes are slightly crossed.
Molly smiles. “You like him, huh? Well, you’re the first. He’s cute, but when people see how much he struggles, they bail. He needs love, that’s all.”
I drum my fingers on the felt. “Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay, buddy. Come say hi.”
The kitten makes his unsteady way to me and places his paws on my knee. I scritch behind his ear, and he gives a small purr before climbing into my lap.
“We’re not sure what his deal is, but he was way smaller than his siblings,” Molly says. “It seems likely he suffered some oxygen-deprivation-based brain damage when he was born. He can see well enough, but his appearance is a bit weird, and as you can see, he’s not so great on his feet.”
“You see why I picked him?” Arman asks. “He’s an orphan. The litter was given up young after their mother died, and all the rest were adopted a while ago. He’s alone in the world.”
I lean against his legs, and he drops a hand onto my shoulder. I pick up my new kitten and press his little face to my tear-stained cheek.
“He’s wonderful,” I say, my voice quivering. “Just wonderful. Thank you so, so much.”
I feel such affinity with the tiny creature. It’s strange, but my heart is full at the thought of caring for my new friend and helping him navigate the world without fear. I hope he’ll grow into a confident, happy dude, strutting around like nothing troubles him.
“You know what?” I say, turning to Arman. “This kitten is to me what I am to you.”
He frowns. “How so?”
“You lost everyone that mattered to you and found a new family, but you were there to protect me when my father hit me. Then, years later, you crashed into my life again, and from then on, you weren’t just looking out for me; you made it your goal to help me overcome my learned helplessness. Do you realize that you saved me from Papa in more ways than one?”
I rise from the floor and sit beside him again, the kitten on my knee. “I was never afraid with you at my side, Arman. You drew out my strength and never let my limitations become who I was. You made me better.”
“Bullshit.” Arman runs the back of his hand over my cheek. “It was the other way around. Everything I’ve done, every choice I’ve made, I wondered—what would my Lilyana think of me? You’re my North Star, moya zhena. Whenever I’m lost, I look for you, and I can find my way home.”
The kitten crawls onto Arman’s lap and up his chest. He leans back against the wall as though a rabid Doberman is pinning him down, and I giggle.
“Sorry, baby girl, I’m—” he sneezes, “—allergic. It’s fine; I can take something for it; I just… haven’t done anything about that yet.”
The kitten yawns, making a sound like a lion on helium, and we all laugh. I grab him, tucking him inside my jacket, and he snuggles against my chest, sleepily making biscuits on my cleavage.
“Paws off the goods, new guy,” Arman says, jabbing an accusatory finger.
I’d forgotten all about Molly, but her job is done, and she picks up the carrier.
