For
two nights in a row there was a persistent
pathetic
mewling, and we wondered about noise
outside our bunkhouse. We found the
kittens huddled
miserably in the hollow under the steps and
gave them warm milk in droppers. That and lots of stroking
made us feel better, and we stayed up all night
with the
trembling bodies curled in the
hollow of our crosslegged skirts.
Their eyes were
barely open, and Jessie's father picked them up the
next morning. I washed that skirt twice
and it still smelled like cat piss and fear.