Chapter 5 - The First Step HomeTwenty minutes later, Ethan stood in the sterile hallway of the shelter's medical wing as a tech handed him a small, warm bundle wrapped in a clean flannel blanket.
A tiny, pale ginger head poked out, framed by striking dark mackerel stripes. The kitten’s left front leg was encased in a bright blue miniature fiberglass splint, held stiffly out to the side like a tiny flagpole. His huge, luminous eyes looked up at Ethan, blinked once, and then—for the very first time—let out a soft, reedy mew.
It wasn't a cry of pain. It was a question.
"Hey there, little guy," Ethan whispered, his throat suddenly tight. "Let's go home."
When Ethan opened the passenger door of the Civic, Boone didn't bark. The big Labrador simply froze, his ears lifting high, his nose twitching frantically as the scent of the flannel blanket drifted into the cabin.
Ethan carefully placed the bundle on the front passenger seat, right next to the console where Boone could see, smell, and guard him.
Boone leaned over, his massive black snout hovering inches from the tiny ginger head. He didn't rush. He didn't crowd. He let out a long, warm puff of air that ruffled the kitten's wet-dry fur.
May you like
The kitten didn't flinch. Instead, remarkably, he stretched his uninjured neck forward, pressed his tiny, damp nose against Boone’s black leather truffle, and gave a faint, vibrating purr that Ethan could actually feel through the dashboard.
Boone’s tail gave one heavy, triumphant thump against the back seat. The 24-hour clock had expired, and a new one had just begun.
