It was a day to celebrate. I assumed Dodger was five solstices old, and he took his first steps. He lifted his head in my direction, scared, when I shrieked with joy. His expression told me he thought it a negative reaction. He grinned with reassurance as I touched his hands to my face so he coud feel the smile on my lips.
I took Dodger outside for fresh air and more room to practice. It was late in the day right in the middle of the summer solstice, which meant fewer people were out. Several occupants from the street were homeless. There was an air of filth to the area from their lack of bathing. I would have taken Dodger elsewhere, but the long hours in Lady Deinan's garden had me exhausted. I sat on a stone door step to our apartment building for rest.
Dodger was twirling circles happily when he suddenly fell, likely from dizziness. I held my breath for a small moment, but he quickly turned my direction and laughed with amusement. I chuckled at our silly child. It amazed me at how easily children were amused. Then again, he was amusing me as well.
Once again, Dodger fell, laughing at his own silliness. The beautiful sound was short lived. He stopped abruptly and turned his head, seriousness overcoming his face.
"What is it Dodger?" I asked. I strained to hear whatever he was listening to.
Dodger pointed down the street. I followed his finger.
"I don't see anything." I told him. He stood up, grabbed my hand, and pointed again in the same direction. He tugged on my hands and pointed more animatedly. When I didn't move, he let go and begged me to follow him with a series of grunts and hand motions.
I really didn't want to follow him. After the day I had, I wanted to relax. However, I followed to humor him. We headed around the bend, and Dodger disappeared down a sketchy street Daniel wanted us to always avoid. My heart fluttered with anxiety.
"Dodger, don't go down there!" I ran to catch up. I turned the corner to find that Dodger hadn't gone more than a few feet. Relief coursed through me.
Instead, he was crouched over a litter of little puffballs. Their mother had found a scrap of old clothing to give birth on, it was the only thing that offered them warmth. Dodger sat petting the motionless mother cat. Her six kittens were completely still beside her.
How had he known they were there? He couldn't have possibly heard a litter of dead kittens. Just as I was about to ask my mute child the question, the middle kitten showed small signs of life. The tiny dear kept itself warm by being snuggled between its two siblings. Dodger gently picked it up and held it close.
The fact that the other five kittens and their mother were dead on the cold ground didn't seem to faze Dodger at all. I, however, felt my heart breaking for them. As I mourned, he stood and walked away.
"Dodger! Come back here," I said a tad too loud. Clearly startled, he turned and gawked at me with big eyes. "We've got to bury the mother and her babies."
Dodger's expression was obviously confused. If he could talk, he would've asked why.
"If we don't bury them, they'll rot for everyone to see. It's sad. We have to respect the mother and her babies by giving them a burial."
Dodger nestled the small kitten in his shirt for warmth, then nodded an impish smile that said, "Ok, mom. Let's do this." Imagining Dodger calling me mom made me wiggle with joy.
I wrapped the mother and her babies in the piece of clothing they were laying on. We found a patch of dirt with no traffic, assuring me no one will stomp on the grave. We dug a hole with flat rocks and our finger tips. When the hole was big enough, I placed the kittens and the mother into their final resting place. When it was covered back up, I placed the stones on top with hopes that people will see the spot as a grave. Dodger was too occupied by the kitten in his shirt to be involved in what I was doing. As a result, I decided to hold off on explaining death to him.
We brought the kitten home, and I prepared some cow's milk for her. It was a challenge since we didn't have nipples in the house. I emptied out the bottle from Dodger's eye drops. I used the dropper cap as a feeding tool and turn her over to feed it. Dodger stared on with awe as the tiny thing licked its snout and yawned. He smiled at the touch of her fur under his fingers, and the movement of her stomach as she ate had him chuckling. He placed the tips of his fingers against her throat as she licked the milk. Her throat moved against his skin, making his smile widen.
He reached for the dropper, clearly wanting to feed the kitten., I allowed him to take control. He squeezed too tightly and practically drowned the poor thing in milk. I explained to him how her mouth was small, and he needed to be gentle with her. He listened and tried again, getting it right.
I heard the front door open. Daniel was home. He walked around the couch and stopped when he saw the kitten.
"What's this?" He asked.
"It's a kitten. She was in the cold by herself. She's all that's left of her litter," I told him to soften him up. "She needs help. I couldn't just leave her to die. She's staying with us until she's old enough to defend herself and that's that." I was strict and held my ground, but it was for nothing.
"Ok," he said whilst shrugging his shoulders, readily accepting the new family member and continuing to the bedroom to hang up his clothes. I often forgot that Daniel didn't mind pets, especially when those pets hunted rodents. I didn't like animals nearly as much as Daniel did. He tried getting a dog once and I had practically bitten his head off. I hated taking care of them. I hated cleaning after them. I hated that their hair somehow found its way into everything. I didn't like their noses in my face. And I definitely didn't like their lack of respect for personal space.
The kitten was the exception. I doubted that Dodger ever had a pet before. Giving him some responsibilities would probably be good for him. Besides, I never could leave a helpless creature to suffer, regardless of its size.
However, when she was able to hunt for herself, she was gone.
~~
Dodger sat on the wooden counter top, munching some bread, while Mother, Daniel, and I sipped on wine. My pay bump at Lady Deinan's garden allotted us the chance to splurge. The kitten stood on the floor, strutting around as if she owned the place. Her head held up high, her nose even higher, she lifted her paws to walk with dignity and her tail upright.
"We should call her Mittens!" Mother exclaimed, clearing thinking it was a genius idea.
"Too common," Daniel said, and I agreed. If there was one thing I hated it was common names, derived from hating my own common name.
The kitten ran to our basket of fruit. We didn't have the counter space to place it up high, so we kept it covered with a cheese cloth on the floor. The kitten pawed inside the basket and managed to come out with a small orange the size of a stone. She tumbled around the kitchen with it, spastically dancing. She batted the orange out of the kitchen and into the hallway, disappearing out of sight. Her silliness made us all chuckle.
"She's a little crook! Stealing from us and running away." I joked.
"We should call her Robber," Daniel said. "She looks like one."
Robber had a dark gray mask covering her eyes and nose. The tip of her tail was gray, and she had little gray socks over her front paws. The rest of her was white, shaggy and messy.
I was unsure of the name, but the longer I listened to her terrorize the house with her orange, the more it grew on me.
"Yeah. I like Robber. It's suits her." I said.