The Stories I Share: The Kittens

The view from my bedroom window was a vintage, decrepit sedan. (See Here) I ignored the eyesore. My middle son didn’t.

One spring, he became fixated on the car. He would watch for the longest minutes, run off to play, and then, quickly return. I don’t remember if I discovered his secret, or he revealed it. Newborn kittens lived under the car, and my toddler loved watching them and their attentive mother.

Unfortunately, that same spring our city was deluged with rain—the kind where relatives call and check on you. We were fine. I was convinced the kittens weren’t, even though I couldn’t see through the rain.  The neighborhood yards that weren’t flooded were drenched. Water whooshed under our pier and beam house.

Once the storm passed, my one-year-old resumed his watch. No kittens.

“The kittens aren’t coming back,” I gently told him.

He wouldn’t leave his post even though there were no kittens—day after day—until one day the kittens appeared. Somehow the mother cat had enough storm warning to carry her brood to higher ground. She obviously liked the car as much as my son and—once safe—had carried them back.