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Chapter Four

The night is a wet and wild one. Shaking my head, I force my way through a small gap in a chain-link fence. My body brushes against the muddy ground beneath me. She chose a secure den.

Up again, I flit down the side of a building, looking at its exposed foundations to my right. Not here, not here, not here—there. A small gap, snuggled between two abandoned buildings in the middle of nowhere.

Within the gap, I see a mother and a daughter.

“Shadow!” The mother gasps, beckoning me in with the sheer desperation in her voice.

I hurry inside the gap and lie next to her, observing the small kitten at her side. Hopefully, my body can provide them with some shelter from the vicious winds outside.

Even within this little haven, it is freezing cold. There is a dampness to the air which refuses to leave us alone. I’m used to these awful storms, and I know she is too, but the child… I worry about her.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” she admits, leaning down to gently groom the kitten. “I don’t know why. You’ve always been such a good friend, Shadow, but this night is doing strange things to my mind.”

“You’re just tired,” I assure her, nodding at the kitten. Its little eyes are still closed, hiding the kitten-blue colour which I have observed in other, older litters. “This whole ordeal must’ve taken a lot out of you.”

“You’re too kind. I’m going mad,” she laughs quietly.

I smile, not knowing what else to say. Her fur, once snow-white, is now greyed and dirtied. I remember how frenzied she was when we dug out this safe nook. It is not as long as mine, so she didn’t get clumps of the earth stuck in it as I did, but all of this has taken a physical toll on her.

The kitten is also a little grey, but I suspect that’s from its habit of rolling around on the ground.

There were more, the last time I visited. I know that because I took them, at her command, one by one from this den.

In truth, she never expected to be a mother. Not now, especially. Neither of us are old, but her sudden coughs remind me that she is sick. With what? We don’t know.

But she won’t go to a shelter, like the one I took her strongest kittens to and the one which paired me with Joseph, some time ago. She wants to stay here, with the runt of the litter and minimal shelter from the elements. I’m not sure what to do about this whole situation. My experience with kittens and their mothers is minimal.

I’ve seen them. I was one of a small litter, once, as every cat must be—although many must have had larger litters than mine. Sometimes, I’ll hear mewling and investigate, only to be harshly told that I’m not needed by a protective mother. I don’t blame them.

I investigate out of curiosity. Some part of me might want to make up for something I’ve done, whether it was cold or selfish or otherwise. But others will investigate for much worse purposes. How can a cat sort the good from the bad?

They can’t. That’s why she has holed up in this secluded spot, and why she has sworn me to secrecy about its location. When she did, I assured her that I had no friends to tell about it, but she still made me swear on my life that I wouldn’t tell anyone.

I haven’t. I may have done selfish things in the past, although every being who survives in a harsh environment on its own is likely to have done the same, but I do not betray people. I don’t deceive or lie or trick other cats.

Maybe that’s why I’m here now, as her last friend.

“All you need is a bath,” I tell her. She laughs, patting her kitten with one paw.

“She needs a bath,” she corrects me. “And a brush, and a good meal, and a soft bed, and so many other things I can’t give her. Shadow.” She looks at me suddenly with her bright green eyes, almost like glowing emeralds, and a shiver runs through my stomach. “I can’t look after her.”

“You’ll get better,” I say, “and you’ll be a wonderful mother to her.”

“I’ve already given the rest of my kittens away,” she moans abruptly, “and now I’m left with one, but I can’t handle it. I won’t last long, Shadow.”

“It’s just a bad night.” Shaking my head, I put a paw on her shoulder. She stares into my eyes and her gaze worries me. It’s… somewhat vacant, and somewhat feverish. I can’t describe it without making her seem like a monster, but she isn’t.

She’s just a mother trying to do what’s best for her kittens, battling some unknown sickness and stuck in a tiny hole while a storm rages outside.

“Will you stay with me, Shadow?” She asks, and I nod quickly. It almost seems like repeating my name is helping her cling to reality or sanity. “I can’t be alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone anyway,” I point out, “because you have your kitten.”

“I do.”

With that, she falls silent for a few moments. Her attention has been turned to her kitten, which is snuffling around and generally being quite newborn kitten-like. It’s small and delicate. I don’t know why she wants to keep the runt behind, out of all of her children.

Perhaps she thinks it needs her the most. That makes sense, I guess. Or it could be some crazy thought which her illness has brought about.

I hate seeing her like this. Every so often, her chest seems to shatter with horrific coughs. The kitten mewls at the sound and she attempts to stifle them, but the sickness wins.

I don’t know where she picked it up, or if she could pass it to me. I’m not thinking of myself. It could’ve been travelling on the air, or maybe it was down here, and we’ve unearthed it.

No, she was sick before then. Now I’m forgetting things. Maybe it is this night—maybe it will make us both crazy.

There’s not just us two to think about, though. Her kitten is young and vulnerable, unlike the others who I dropped off outside the shelter. Having been inside its walls myself, I know what will become of them.

They will be groomed and fed and bathed, and then put on display for any interested people. Just as Joseph found me, someone will find them. They might get split up; I don’t have experience with that, as I was there alone. But they’ll survive.

I don’t know what will happen to the runt. I don’t know what will happen to her, in honesty. Every time I visit, she seems weaker. Maybe it’s just the storm affecting my mood, but I’m struggling to be optimistic.

Still, she must be feeling much worse than I could ever feel, so I need to be positive. She’s sick. She needs someone to lighten her heart, not put more weight on her shoulders.

“Have you named her?” I ask carefully, considering it a safe question. She’s chosen to keep this one, so perhaps she will have thought of a name too.

“Not yet,” she replies quietly, sighing. “I don’t know if I will.”

“She needs a name at some point,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little. “‘Kitten’ could be her name, if you can’t think of anything.”

“If only she were a boy,” she says, attempting to smile. “Then, I would call her Shadow.”

“She doesn’t need my name clouding her life.” A little flattered by the suggestion, I shake my head. No, I’d worry too much about the poor kitten having to endure a life like the one I’ve lived, especially before Joseph adopted me. “Besides, what sort of name is ‘Shadow’ for a white kitten? She hasn’t a speck of shadow about her.”

“You’re right,” she says, stretching her body a little.

She’s getting thin. I’ve been putting on weight since Joseph took me into his house, giving me just enough freedom to roam the streets and revisit old friends while still having a full bowl of food available at the end of the day. If I could, I would bring her to Joseph’s house and demand, somehow, that he take her in.

I’m not sure how well that would work, considering I don’t speak the language of the humans and Joseph doesn’t speak the language of us cats. Still, I would try.

But she doesn’t want to be owned. She wants to be free, and she stubbornly wants to stay here. For how long? I have no idea.

“The night will end soon,” she says, startling me out of my thoughts. That sentence unsettles me. “Then, morning arrives.”

“You’re not usually poetic,” I comment.

“I’m not usually sick.” The kitten begins to mewl again, and she brings it closer to her body with one paw. “But I need a favour, Shadow.”

“You know I’d do anything to help.”

“Yes, I know.” She smiles at that, and I move myself closer to the two, trying to be some sort of comforting presence. “Will you promise to look after her, if I can’t?”

“You’ll be—” Before I can finish my words, she frowns.

“Will you promise?”

“If you ever can’t,” I say cautiously, trying to be optimistic even in this dark, damp den, “then I will look after her. I promise, Sophia.”

“Thank you.”

She closes her eyes and breathes out heavily. My eyes move to the tiny kitten beside her, wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into.

That doesn’t matter now. I’ve promised. No matter what, I will keep that kitten safe.