The sarcasm dripping from his voice made the hair on the back of Lauren’s neck stand up, but she sighed. “Look, a friend of mine brought a box of kittens to the café a few minutes ago, and aside from the fact that I’ve never taken care of kittens this young and could use some help, I think one of them is in trouble.”
Caleb switched to emergency vet mode immediately. “Bring them to Exam 1.”
“Anyone else here?”
“No. The techs all had tonight off. Let me just lock up and put a note on the front door to ring the bell. Put the kittens on the table in the exam room and I’ll be right there.”
***
It was clear Lauren was in distress. Caleb approached the box of kittens carefully. There were five. Four of them were moving and one wasn’t.
“These are too young to be away from their mother.”
“I know,” said Lauren. “Mitch—he runs a volunteer organization that works with feral cats—said these had been abandoned by their mother.”
Caleb looked at them. “These are two weeks old, I’d say. Three at the most.”
He picked up the still one and saw it was breathing but struggling. He went to work, clearing out the tiny kitten’s nasal passages, which seemed to be blocked, then rubbing its belly to remind him to breathe. Lauren watched, perfectly still.
Nothing happened.
A number of thoughts ran through Caleb’s head, not the least of which was that these things happened sometimes. Young kittens, especially those left on the street for a couple of weeks without a mother, often didn’t make it. He knew it was how life was, yet he really wanted this kitten to live.
Lauren stared at him as if she expected him to be Jesus to this kitten’s Lazarus.
“We need to get some fluids into these kittens,” Caleb said, trying to act instead of face the reality that this tiny kitten probably wouldn’t make it. “If you go down the hall, there’s a yellow door. That’s our pharmacy. There’s a fridge in there that has some kitten formula in a white bottle. Can you go grab it?”
Lauren bit her lip and gave the kitten a long look before she nodded and left the room.
Caleb let out a breath. He rubbed the tiny chin of the kitten with his finger, moving down her throat to try to stimulate breathing. Caleb thought he heard a sigh or a gasp, but the kitten didn’t move.
Lauren returned a moment later.
“There are some big sterile syringes in the cabinet behind my head,” Caleb said, reluctant to put the kitten down. “They’re in a box labeled kitten feeding. Pour some of the formula into one. We’ll see if this little guy perks up with some food.”
Lauren nodded, found a syringe, and poured formula into it.
“Like you’re feeding a baby. Put the tip near the kitten’s mouth.”
The kitten’s jaw was open slightly, and the tip of the syringe was small enough that Lauren could maneuver it into the kitten’s mouth. Nothing happened for a moment, though a little formula must have dribbled into the kitten’s mouth.
Then, suddenly, a definite gasp, and the kitten’s mouth latched onto the tip.
“Oh my god,” said Lauren.
“We’re not out of the woods yet, but I think this kitten wants to fight.” Caleb let out a breath as the kitten continued to eat. “Let’s feed the rest of these guys, too.”
Ten minutes later, all five kittens had eaten a little and the four healthy ones were letting out little squeaky mewls as Lauren pet them. But the fifth kitten had curled up in the corner of the box to sleep.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Lauren asked.
“Honestly? It’s hard to say. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”
“Should we make him warmer? Do you have, like, an incubator or something?”
Caleb winced.
“Sorry, not trying to tell you how to do your job.”
He sighed and grabbed a towel from one of the cabinets. He wrapped it around the little kitten, who sighed in his sleep and threw out his arms in a jittery stretch.
Caleb didn’t want to say they did have some equipment in the back room—they had the cat equivalent of an ICU bed—but this kitten was too small for most of it. There wasn’t much they could do for this little guy. He glanced at Lauren, hoping she’d never read his thoughts, because she would surely call him heartless. But he’d euthanized an elderly dog earlier that day and was still reeling a little bit, which was a reminder he had to maintain a certain amount of detachment in order to do his job well.
He glanced at Lauren, who held a hand over her mouth, looking stricken as she gazed at the kitten.
“Four healthy kittens is still very good news,” Caleb said. “Kittens abandoned by their mother this young often don’t make it. This one kitten is struggling, but I believe the other four will be just fine. Too young to put up for adoption, but we can take care of them here until they are.”
“But the fifth one.”
Caleb nodded. He remembered all the times he’d saved an animal despite the odds. But he remembered every loss, too. He hated to see animals suffer, hated to see them sick or injured, and he didn’t like watching this little kitten struggle to hang on. But he’d remember this night, and not just because a beautiful woman was looking over the kitten with him.
A beautiful woman who hated him, granted.
There was no animosity now, though, just concern for the kitten. Lauren reached down and ran her finger along the top of the little guy’s head. He leaned into her touch, which was a good sign. The other kittens had begun to play with each other, the post-dinner burst of energy upon them, but the little one could barely lift his head to get closer to Lauren’s fingers.
Still, they kept vigil for the next hour, taking turns checking on the little kitten
