Would you believe we found ANOTHER baby birb in the warehouse?! This time it was seriously a baby-baby. He fell down from a nest somewhere between the roof and… I’m not sure. We saw what looked like bits of a nest waaaaaaay up high in the shirt room of the warehouse. We got out the biggest ladder we had, but couldn’t put him back. It was too high and it looked like the nest had fallen apart. He’s lucky he survived the fall! He fell on some softer boxes. So we made him a little paper towel nest, found a wildlife rehabilitator and took him there!
Sam stares at the little thing, looking up at him with the sad little expression. It’s wet, and probably cold, and Sam sighs and lets it into the motel room.
Sam doesn’t know much about kittens but he knows this one must be very young. He debates throwing it back out of the motel room–it’s a kitten, it’s pretty useless to him, after all–but decides against it. There’s this lurking thought that that’s not something the old Sam would do, and while Sam doesn’t really care too much about that, the thought nags him nonetheless. So he looks it up online. The kitten is probably three weeks old, and it needs a mix of milk and some cat food. Sam throws some towels down on the floor, hoping the kitten will get the hint to warm itself up. Then he grabs his keys and runs to the store.
He makes the milk and feeds the thing, then leaves out some food it can have for the rest of the night.
He eyes it critically. It’s cute, he thinks. But it’s the same objective way he views all things now. It’s cute, yes, but that doesn’t trigger a reaction like he used to.
He thinks Gwen likes cats. He’ll keep the thing alive long enough to bring it to her, and she can take care of the rest. The cat’s had its milk, and settled into a little nest of towels, so Sam figures everything is okay.
Sam sits down at the rickety desk with his laptop, wanting to get some more research in, and after a little while, he hears an odd strangled meow at his feet, and feels a little head rubbing against his pants leg.
He sighs, bends down, and scoops up the little ball of fur, letting it settle into his lap, and if he spends the rest of the night patting a dozy kitten with one hand, typing with the other, well, no one has to know.