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It was a mew. A very weak mew.
“What the ever-loving fuck?”
Dropping his coffee cup onto the sand, a sacrifice if he’d ever made one in his life, Nick began searching for the source. Whatever was making the pathetic sound couldn’t be too far from where he’d been sitting, or he would never have heard it.
It took a few minutes, and a few more sets of lulls between the waves crashing against the sand, but Nick finally pinpointed the sound as coming from just a few feet away from where he sat. It was somewhere near or underneath a massive beach log that had rolled up out of the deep years ago during “the storm of the century.” The tree had to have been ancient before it fell because what remained of the root ball was as wide as Nick was tall. The roots twisted into writhing curves, reminding Nick of Medusa’s snakes.
Getting down onto his hands and knees, Nick peered underneath where the dead roots had dug into the sand. A pair of glittery eyes stared back at him.
“Hey, little one. What are you doing out here in the cold?” Nick whispered. “I’m gonna help you, don’t worry.”
The little beast fluffed itself and hissed, revealing a set of very sharp, pointy, white teeth.
“Come here.” Nick held his hand out.
Hissing again, the kitten took a swipe at his fingers and retreated as far as it could into the shadows.
“Look,” Nick explained. “I can’t help if you keep trying to maim me. And seriously,” he continued, as if the kitten understood what he was saying, “why would you meow and then not want me to give you a hand? If you stay out here, things could get bad.”
The eye he could still see stared back at him, all but screaming distrust. Nick sat back on his heels, running his hand across the top if his head. What would Steve Irwin do? The damp sand was almost icy, the chill seeping into his knees and quickly cooling down the rest of him, making his thigh ache. If he was cold, the kitten had to be… really cold.
He bent down again and peered into the cave-like space under the tree. “Okay, here’s the thing. You can’t stay out here.”
The kitten stared at him.
Nick stared back at it.
The little beast opened its maw and hissed.
“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
Taking a fortifying breath, Nick lay down on his stomach—on the fucking cold sand—and bravely stuck his arm into the cave as far back as possible. He waved his fingers, fishing around for the kitten, since he couldn’t see what he was doing at all. This was all by feel. And, thank-you-very-much, a bite.
“Gotcha!” he whispered when his hand brushed against its soft fur. Folding his fingers around the small body, he gingerly pulled the kitten out from under the log, managing to knock a handful of sand into his face and mouth in the process.
“Fuck, that’s disgusting.” Sitting up, he wiped his face with his free hand.
The kitten hissed and flailed as it struggled to escape Nick’s grip, but he had a good hold. He, or she, wasn’t going anywhere.
“And just where do you think you’re gonna go, huh? A big old mean bird is gonna come along and swoop you up and then you’ll really be in trouble.”
Nick awkwardly shrugged out of his coat before gently but swiftly wrapping the kitten up in it like a burrito. Just its outraged face peeked out.
“See, isn’t that better?” He cradled his jacket against his chest, doing what he could to help it—and himself—warm up. Goose bumps formed across his exposed skin and he shivered.
Checking around, he spied the go-cup right where he’d dropped it. Once it was safe in hand, he started back toward his cabin, very much not thinking about what he thought he was doing rescuing a tiny kitten. There was no veterinarian in town—a real shame—and somehow Nick didn’t see himself taking the community transit bus with a kitten in his pocket.
After letting himself inside, Nick set the kitten down.
“Happy now?” he asked, watching it struggle out of his jacket while it meowed loudly, making sure Nick understood:Not Happy.
Nick was thankful his place was so small. There was nowhere for the beast to get lost. Once freed of his jacket, it tottered toward the kitchenette on its tiny little legs. Was it brown, or did it need a bath? It probably needed a bath, no matter what color its fur was. It was probably hungry, too. Crossing to the half-size fridge, Nick opened it and grabbed the container of milk.
“Kittens like cream, right?” He poured a small amount of the liquid into a saucer and set it on the floor. “Let’s get some food in you and then a bath.” He was going to have to take it to the shelter at some point. Nick could barely take care of himself. He absolutely couldn’t keep a cat.
Kitten stumbled to the saucer and enthusiastically began to lap at the liquid. It was making another funny sound. Nick bent down to listen and realized it was purring and drinking at the same time.
“You’re going to choke yourself,” Nick informed it.
