Two eyes glowed back at him. At first he thought fox, but as he moved the light, he realized it was a black-and-white cat.
A cat trying to bring kittens up the stairs because the bottom landing was flooded.
Three kittens were on the third stair from the bottom and the cat had a fourth kitten in her mouth. She dropped it with the other kittens and went back down. She pulled another kitten from the water and went up three steps.
He didn’t know if that kitten was alive. But she didn’t go back down, instead watched him while she sat with the kittens.
She was wet, and likely cold and hungry.
He couldn’t leave her out here.
“Stay,” he told Titan firmly. He hoped he didn’t regret this. These stairs were slick stone even when it wasn’t raining.
He sat on the top stair and went down on his butt, bringing the crate with him. He was dizzy and his stomach lurched. The whiskey, the hamburger, the rain, sliding down these stairs on his ass. But he did it. One, two… seven stairs. The kittens were on the ninth stair down.
The cat hissed at him, but didn’t attack.
“You’re Cleo, I’ll bet,” Travis said. “There’s a little boy who is going to be very happy to see you.”
He reached down and picked up the first kitten. Cleo swiped at him and drew blood.
“Hey, I’m trying to save you and your brood,” he said. He got the other kittens and put them in the box. He thought they were all alive, but he couldn’t be positive. They weren’t more than a day or two old, their eyes still closed.
He tried to reach for Cleo, but she ran back down the stairs.
He brought the crate back up. Getting up was a lot harder than getting down.
He put the crate on the ground under the awning, but the cats were wet and getting wetter. Titan immediately came over to inspect them, sniffing, tongue out, and Travis thought there was a smile on his dopey face.
“You’re a strange dog,” he said affectionately.
He looked back down the stairs. “Cleo, get up here,” he called.
The cat just stared at him.
Well, shit.
Muttering and swearing to himself, he went back down the stairs, sliding halfway down when his fake leg went out from under him. He winced when he hit his knee hard on the stone.
“Damn cat. Come on, meet me halfway.”
She just stared at him.
Grumbling, thinking he should have just left the cat to fend for herself, he lunged forward and grabbed her, pulling her tight against him. She struggled, but he had a good grip. She was skinny and frantic, but she was also a mom cat and he hoped she didn’t bolt and leave her kittens. If she did, they would almost certainly die tonight because he couldn’t make it to the feedstore to get kitten formula for them until tomorrow.
He had to practically crawl up the stairs, the angry cat under one arm, balancing with his other arm and good leg. He collapsed at the top and the cat fought him, hissed, but he held on. He took off his rain slicker while still holding her and quickly shoved her in the crate with her kittens, keeping the jacket over the opening. She hissed, jumped, tried to get out, but he held it firm.
Travis used Titan’s strong back to help him get up, then the dog trotted next to him as Travis limped back to the house. His fake leg was crooked and he hoped he hadn’t bent the metal attachments. He could probably fix it himself, but if it was broken, he’d have to go to the VA and get a new one.
It took him a good ten minutes to get around to the front of the house, up the stairs, and inside. He put the crate down and closed the door so the cat couldn’t escape. He took the rain slicker off the top of the box. Cleo hissed, but didn’t jump out of the box. Maybe she was hissing at Titan, who looked in as if he had found his new best friend.
Travis sat in the entry and caught his breath. Damn, he was out of shape. Too much alcohol and not enough exercise.
A few minutes later, he used the wall to help pull himself to standing. He took the crate to the kitchen, opened the pantry, and put it on the floor. The cat would feel safer, he thought, in a small, confined space.
He went to the linen closet and got a towel and an old wool blanket. He brought them back and made a bed for her under theshelf. He then filled a bowl with fresh water, and another bowl with tuna, since he didn’t have cat food. He put them next to the new bed and then closed the pantry door. He wasn’t worried about the dogs—they wouldn’t chase the cat—but he wanted the cat to feel secure.
He picked up his whiskey bottle and poured the rest into a glass. Brought it to his lips, then stopped.
