Chapter Eight
The cat screamed—an unholy yowl, with a side of demon. Gale glanced back at his open patio door. Inside lay the life he’d
been living just minutes ago: a bowl of Froot Loops on the coffee table, rockabilly thrumming on the sound system, his untouched
coffee. But he had left that reality the moment he heard the first strange noise from the pool deck. Now he stood shirtless
in cutoff sweats, barefoot, his breath coming out in white puffs in the chill February morning.
The orange cat stared at him with vivid green eyes, boring into his literal fucking soul. Was she sick? He saw no visible
injuries, so she likely hadn’t tangled with a coyote and stumbled into his yard to lick her wounds.
She screamed again. Gale flinched, his heart racing. Good thing there was no cemetery nearby, or she’d wake the dead. His
eyes darted to her swollen abdomen, and a wave of dread washed over him. The truth roiled, undeniable and urgent.
Fuck.
This cat would soon be giving birth. Right here. Right now. On his pool deck.
Panic clamped his throat. What the hell should he do? He knew nothing about delivering kittens—or anything else. His mind raced through a jumble of half-formed ideas, each more useless than the last. Should he call a vet? Search the internet? Try to move her? Give her privacy?
For a moment, he entertained the cowardly thought of retreating inside, shutting the door, and pretending he’d never seen
any of this. That abandoned cereal bowl beckoned—a simple, sweet, and uncomplicated world just steps away.
But as he met the cat’s pleading green eyes, he knew he couldn’t leave her alone in this vulnerable moment, even if he had
no clue how to help. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and began to pace. Come on, come on. He had to figure this out somehow.
His sister was an expert, right? He hit speed dial.
“Hey. I need you.”
“What’s wrong?” Brooke’s voice was groggy. A baby fussed in the background. “It’s seven a.m., Gale, and I’ve been up most of the night. Someone better be dying.”
“So there’s this cat on my deck and she’s about to have babies and I thought since you just had Benji—”
“Are you seriously calling me because you think having a human baby makes me qualified to help deliver kittens?”
“I mean . . . birth is birth, right? You’ve got recent experience. More than me at least.”
“Oh. My. God. Stop. Just stop.” She broke off into exhausted laughter. “You realize I had one baby, not a whole litter? With
doctors? And drugs? Wonderful, wonderful drugs?”
“Yeah, but you know about all the . . . stuff. The pushing and breathing and—”
“Did you just compare my thirty-eight hours of labor to an animal giving birth on your deck?”
The cat let out another unholy screech. Gale held the phone closer. “Listen to that! She needs help!”
“I hear. And I’m telling you to call the very nice people who actually deal with these things. The humane society. A vet. Anyone but your sleep-deprived sister.”
“But you’re so good with all the . . . you know. The birthing stuff.”
Benji’s crying grew more insistent. “Oh god, he’s doing that thing where he turns purple. I have to—”
“What if I FaceTime you and you just talk me through it?”
“Brother. I say this with all the affection in the world—I’m hanging up. I am not going to remote-coach you through cat labor.”
“But—”
“No. Hard no. Absolutely not. Call the experts.” A small crash in the background. “Shit, he’s gotten hold of the burp cloth.
How does he grab stuff so well? He isn’t even close to crawling yet!”
“Please? I’ll babysit Benji!”
Dead silence. Then hysterical laughter. “You? The guy who tried to swaddle his nephew in a jersey?”
“That was one time! And he looked cute!”
“He looked like a tiny prisoner! Call. The. Professionals.” More crying. “I mean it. I have to go feed your nephew before
he figures out how to hot-wire a car or something. Love you!”
“But—”
The line went dead. He looked back at the cat, who somehow managed to look even more unimpressed than before.
“Don’t judge me,” he muttered. “I tried.”
Now what?
Suddenly, a lifeline appeared in Gale’s panicked mind: Harriet. She had a cat—or at least did a decade ago—and seemed to know
a lot about most things. Yes, she’d be the perfect person to call.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Harriet! Oh man, so glad you picked up. Listen, I’ve got a serious situation unfolding here. Any chance you can come over?
Please? I’m way out of my depth.”
She replied with three words. “On my way.”
He didn’t realize until after hanging up that he had given her next to no useful information. But she was coming, and that’s
what mattered.
The cat wasn’t screaming now, just panting, mouth half open, teeth exposed. Would she bite if he touched her? He put out his
hand slowly, and when she didn’t react, he pressed his fingers into her lower back. The muscles were tight as he began to
gently rub. “It’s going to be okay, Little Mama,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be fine.”
He didn’t stop crooning or rubbing for twenty minutes, not until he heard a car parking in his driveway and released a breath.
Harriet had arrived. He stumbled to the front door to let her in. Harriet entered the foyer looking ready to face down a natural
disaster.
“The cat’s by the pool,” Gale blurted. “I’m almost positive she’s having contractions.”
“Oh my god, Gale, what’s going on?” But then his words clearly made it to her brain. She blinked. “Wait, did you just say . . .
the . . . cat?”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I mean, look, I’ve watched some episodes of that show when we’re on the road, what’s
its name, Call the Midwife? But that isn’t enough to fly here. This is a full feline situation with Little Mama.”
Her brows, already raised, lifted a fraction more. “Little Mama?”
“I mean, yeah. That’s what I’ve been calling her.” He hooked a hand around the back of his neck. “I mean, I just met her.
We’re not exactly on a first-name basis yet.”
“Oh my god.” She pressed her lips together. “Gale, when you called, I thought someone had died.”
“No one died, but—”
Right on cue, the cat let out a yowl that made Gale jump.
“Okay, okay,” Harriet said, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll go outside and attend to the damsel in distress. And you, good sir, should attend to putting on more clothing before the neighbors start livestreaming.”
Gale glanced down at his bare torso and then back to her face, noticing she wasn’t looking directly at him, her hazel eyes
focused on some vague spot over his left shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, okay. And I’ll grab some towels. Should I get a bowl of hot
water?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. In movies, there’s always someone carrying a pan of hot water around when a baby is about to be born.”
Harriet shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m not exactly an expert on birthing cats despite your high expectations of me.
Water must be to sterilize something, and we’re not doing that, I can assure you. Grabbing towels sounds good, though. Do that.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He swallowed.
“Maybe your bad towels,” she clarified, clearly taking the situation in hand.
“Sounds good, back in a second.”
He returned outside in a few minutes, clad in a Regals sweatshirt and a pair of slides.
“I heated these towels in the dryer.”
“You warmed them?” Harriet looked up from her spot, crouched by the cat. “That was thoughtful.”
“All good. What do we do now?”
“We?” She shrugged. “I hate to break it to you, but I think Little Mama’s got this covered. From my very limited knowledge,
I think our best role is just moral support and marveling at the miracle of life.”
As if on cue, Little Mama’s eyes opened even wider, and suddenly, there was a tiny, wet bundle on the towel he’d just placed
alongside her.
“Whoa,” Gale whispered, feeling both awestruck and slightly nauseated by the orange blob. “Is that . . . is it supposed to look like that?”
Harriet’s eyes widened a moment. “Amazing,” she breathed.
Fifteen minutes and one more push later, they were the proud godparents of two kittens—both orange, just like their mother.
Gale looked at Harriet, his eyes wide with a mix of wonder and panic. “Will there be more?”
“Not if this is her first litter. Two could be it.” She patted his shoulder. “Congratulations.”
He shook his head, bewildered. “Do I keep them?”
“You could take them to a shelter after they’re fed and cleaned up.”
“Abandon them?” The words stuck in his throat. Little Mama looked up at him with those trusting green eyes, her babies squirming
against her belly. Something throbbed in his chest—an old, familiar ache he couldn’t quite name. Like pressing on a forgotten
bruise.
“The A word is a little heavy,” Harriet said softly. “You didn’t exactly sign up for cats.”
He watched the tiny kittens nuzzle closer to their mother, that nameless feeling sitting heavy. The thought of walking away,
of being someone who could just . . . leave . . . made his skin crawl. Made his hands want to ball into fists against something
he wasn’t ready to look at too closely.
“No,” he said quietly, the word coming out rougher than he meant it to. “They’re staying with me. I’ll figure it out.”
Harriet squeezed his shoulder, a look of understanding in her eyes. “Okay, then. Let’s figure it out together. I’ll help.”
He groaned, but couldn’t help smiling a little. “I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?”
“Welcome to parenthood, Gale.” Harriet grinned. “If I’ve learned anything from your sister, it’s all uphill from here.”
Gale looked down at the mewling kittens, then at Little Mama, who was licking their fur contentedly. His towels were covered in cat birth . . . stuff. But somehow, none of that mattered. He was a cat dad now. And honestly? He kind of liked the sound of that.
He glanced at Harriet, crouched nearby with her blond ponytail slightly askew and glasses perched on the end of her nose.
She looked different from when he’d seen her at Brooke’s one time, holding Benji like she actually knew what she was doing