19. Nadia
19
NADIA
F our kittens, a weak mama cat, and a thieving Catzilla are a lot of work.
When Dalton leaves for his shift that evening, I’m tasked with feeding four kittens, teaching them to use the litter box, and continually bringing them back to their mother when Cattarina the Great steals them for her own bed.
By two a.m., I’m exhausted. I lie on the bed, barely registering when Cattarina jumps up beside me. She rarely does that, but I’m too tired to figure out why.
When Dalton comes in the next morning, he tries to be quiet, but the mere arrival of sunlight in the room wakes up me, Cattarina, and the kittens, and the mewling begins.
I sit up, trying to push my wild hair into some semblance of order. “Shift go okay?”
“Easy one. How was the first night as a mother of six?”
“Exhausting.”
He chuckles, and the sound makes me smile despite my tiredness. “You go back to sleep. I’ll handle a round.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep.”
He turns on the kitchen light. “We have two kittens in the crate. Mama Cat in Cattarina’s bed. And we’re missing a big cat and two babies.”
I shift my pillow to reveal the oversized Maine Coon and two kittens.
“I see.” He leans beside me to scoop up the two kittens. “I’ll borrow these.” I catch a whiff of him while he’s close. There’s a hospital smell, for sure, one I’ve gotten used to, something antiseptic. But also a quality that is always his, clean cotton clothes and a hint of herbal shampoo.
Cattarina glares at him as he takes the kittens away. I stroke her head. “They’ll be fine, Cattarina. Let Dad feed them.”
Just saying the word Dad does something weird in my belly. It’s awfully domestic, even more than the meals and the shared space. We have responsibility now.
And Dalton’s doing his share, despite his difficult schedule.
He returns the kittens to the crate with the others, then turns on the burner under the pot of water we use to warm up the kitten formula. “How is Mama Cat?”
“Sleeping, mostly, but it looks like a comfortable rest.”
“That will do her the most good. Sleep in a safe, warm place, food, someone to help with the babies.”
I join him by the stove. “I’m supposed to go to work today. Should I take off?”
“I can feed them.”
“But you need to sleep.”
“I have twenty-four hours off. Plenty of time to watch them. You’ll be home late afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll sleep then.”
I turn to look over the room. Cattarina is sneaking toward the crate to steal a kitten. “I’m hoping they’ll be more independent when Mama is better.”
He checks the temperature of the formula. “I’ll look her over when she wakes. I think she’ll perk up quickly.”
I head to the shower to get ready for work. I feel bad that I’ve soaked up all of Dalton’s free time between shifts.
But when I come out in my jeans and deli shirt, he’s got my yogurt out, coffee made, and two kittens on his lap.
I think he likes it.
I’m not quiet coming in after my workday. Dalton said he would sleep when I got home. I’m anxious to see how Mama Cat is doing.
But when I step inside the apartment, the side with the bed is dark from the blackout curtains.
The kitchen bulb is on, just enough light to see on the sofa side.
I check Cattarina’s bed in its new placement.
Empty.
I peer into the open crate.
Nothing.
Where is everyone?
I stand still. There’s no sound. Did he take them somewhere? Did Mama Cat take a turn for the worse?
Surely he would have messaged me if there was a problem.
I set my bag on the bar and peer into the gloom of the bed.
There’s a figure there. Dalton must be asleep. But where are the cats?
My heart hammers as I turn on the flashlight function of my phone and angle it so that it doesn’t shine directly on the bed. Maybe Cattarina hauled everyone under the bed and Mama Cat followed?
I’m about to kneel to look below when I hear a meow near my face.
It can’t be Cattarina. She’s silent. And it’s too big of a sound for the kittens.
I carefully angle the phone at the wall to give a bit of reflected light on the bed.
Dalton is curled in a semi-circle around the whole pile of fur. Cattarina is closest to his belly, her head up, eyes alert.
Mama Cat is next, watching me. She meows again.
I reach out to pet her head. She must be feeling better.
The kittens are a writhing mass along her belly. They are probably nursing. I need to feed them before they drain all of MC’s energy.
The glow of the light illuminates Dalton’s face, or half of it. He’s partially buried in his pillow.
His features are soft and gentle. His breathing is regular and deep.
My chest warms over. He’s beautiful with his thick eyebrows and angled nose. His sharp jawline is shadowed with a hint of facial hair.
He draws in a jagged breath, different from his previous calm rhythm. The older cats’ faces snap to me in judgment, as if I’m guilty of waking him.
I angle the phone light down to the floor, leaving him in darkness. “Sorry,” I whisper.
I tiptoe to the kitchen to warm up formula for the kittens so they won’t overtax their mother. Then I carefully take them one by one to the sofa to feed them.
Dalton sleeps on. I wonder if he arranged the cats near him, or if he fell asleep and they gathered there.
My question is answered when I pause in feeding the kitten to examine the bottle.
Cattarina jumps from the bed and darts to the sofa. She snatches the kitten from my lap and carries her back to her mother.
I get it.
It’s not only the cats who are a family.
It’s all of us.