REMINDER: DO NOT WORRY — all the animals in this book are happy, safe, and healthy.

 

JOHN: 911!!!

JOHN: Any chance you’re free tonight?

JOHN: By tonight, I mean now.

 

We needed to stop doing this.

Yet again, I was racing to John’s apartment praying that this wouldn’t result in another visit to ‘my office.’ I knew he was babysitting his sister’s kids, and that he probably didn’t have car seats. Maybe he couldn’t reach his sister. Maybe it just required minor first aid. Maybe he was having medical issues of his own and needed help with both his own needs and the kids. It didn’t matter. I drove like a maniac, grabbed the key from the rock, and prepared myself for the worst. As soon as I put the key in lock, the door swung open. 

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” John said, his face flushed and eyes wide in terror. He held his screaming niece under his arm like a football and ushered me inside. I had enough experience to recognize that the child wailed in fury, not pain. 

John juggled the baby until his hands were under her armpits and he held her, arms outstretched towards me. I took Charlotte from him instinctually and held her on my hip, intending to look her over, but she quieted instantly. John breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall.

“Are you okay? Why is it so warm in here?” I asked. Hypoglycemia caused chills and sweating. “Do you need me to get you some glucagon?”

“No, I’m fine.” He gestured toward the living room. ”I turned up the thermostat for the other one.”

As if that were enough to summon him, John’s nephew raced into the entryway and skidded to a stop in front of me. “Are you Tommy? Are you a doctor?”

“I’m a nurse,” I said, used to the common, innocent child’s belief that men were doctors and women were nurses. But he surprised me.

“Even better,” he said. “I told him that nurses are nice and doctors make her cry! He says he’s not that kind of doctor but he makes her cry anyway and he washed her in the kitchen sink!”

The boy was so scandalized that I didn’t dare laugh. 

“She exploded,” John explained, wrinkling his nose, and I was actually impressed that the explosive diaper was not the emergency.

“Is she all clean now?” I asked. John nodded and so did the boy. “Good. Kitchen sinks are big and extra clean. And I bet we can sanitize it again.”

“That’s what he said,” the boy grumbled. “But it snot what you s’posed to do.”

“No it isn’t,” I assured him. “Now, Sammy, can you tell me why you’re naked?”

“I’m not naked!” he said proudly and lifted one foot. “I’m wearing socks! I’m not a noozest.”

“Nudist. A nudist is someone who prefers to be nude,” John corrected, as if nomenclature was what mattered in this situation. “I told him to put his clothing back on, and explained all the medical and sociological reasons to wear clothing. In our society, we wear pants.”

“I can make my own s’iety!” Sammy announced, hands on his hips and face screwed into a stubborn expression that mirrored his uncle’s. “You can take your clothes off too. I don’t care. We turned up the thomostat.”

“He won’t eat his dinner, either,” John tattled. “He’ll only eat dream bars.”

I set that comment aside for a moment and said, “Sammy, I am putting the thermostat back to normal or else your uncle and sister will get sick. Do you want me to call your mother or will you put on your clothes?”

“If you call Mommy, he’ll get in trouble too!” he crowed. “Nobody s’posed to help Uncle John!”

“No I won’t. Tommy Powers isn’t in the Moore family. He doesn’t count,” the fully-adult man said smugly, and I was surprised that he didn’t stick out his tongue at his nephew. “Your mom said I couldn’t get help from anyone in the Moore family.”

Sure, Joy and her husband probably wanted some alone time, but I saw this for the matchmaking ploy it was. I dug my phone out of my pocket and brandished it like it was Excalibur.

“Go put on your clothes,” I said with all the authority I could muster. I’d heard patients’ parents use an authoritative tone of voice that I hoped I was mimicking effectively. “One…”

“You’re not going to call my mom!” 

I started searching my contacts.

“Two…”

“You’re bluffing!”

“Th-”

“FINE!” he shouted and stomped into the living room.

John looked at me as though I had performed a miracle. 

“Now tell me, how does he know about Dream Bars?” I asked John.

“Well, I really wanted one, and I thought it might work as a bribe to get him to put his clothes on… But he saw the box and now he wants more.”

“So you gave him dessert before dinner,” I said with a sigh. I wasn’t sure I could fix that, but the boy was allowed to be hungry if he was too stubborn to eat. “Was this your emergency?”

“Not all of it. Now we need to get the mouse away from Frankie,” John told me and described walking the dog and children down the block, Frankie finding a hat with a dead something in it, and refusing to let his trophy go. “He snapped at me!”

I looked around the room and noticed that it had been hit by a tornado. “Is there anywhere safe to put the baby?”

“Under the table?” John asked.

“We don’t store children under tables. Here, you hold her like I’m holding her now.” John gingerly took Charlotte from me, causing her to automatically start screeching, and I helped reposition his arms and she calmed down. Mostly. Then I marched into the living room to find Frankie half-hidden behind an entertainment center, nuzzling a bright pink hat.

“Okay. Sammy, stay over by the couch while I get the mouse.”

“It’s a kitty!” the boy insisted. John sighed and shook his head as though this argument had been going on a while. “I saw it and it’s a kitty!”

I crouched down by Frankie, who actually growled, and spoke to him in a quiet, soothing voice. “Let me see, Frankie. You can keep the hat, but I need to know what’s inside. Sammy says it’s a kitty, John says it’s a mouse, and I need to check on it. If it’s a dead animal, we need to take it away before the kids get sick. If it’s alive, I need to help it. Remember, I’m a medical professional.”  

At that, Frankie warily stepped back and I heard a squeak. I finally got a good view of the hat to see a tiny face peeking out of it. I pulled it out to realize it was, indeed, a very young kitten. Too young. But it was breathing and Frankie must have been trying to warm it up. With all the calm I could muster I asked, “John? Do you know of a 24-hour vet?”

“There’s one down the block. I take Frankie there.”

“Please call them and come over here.” When he crouched by me, a gasp escaped his lips. “I’ll take the phone. I need you to go back outside and…”

“I’ll do that. And knock on some doors to find out if anyone knows about any litters,” he said immediately. “Are you okay?”

Somehow, a pet emergency felt worse than a human emergency. But I nodded my head. I took the phone from John and handed him mine, so he could call if there was trouble. Someone answered immediately and I explained the situation as quietly as possible. John settled the baby down next to Sammy, who crowed, “I was right!” and began to read to his sister. He might be three years old, but it was clearly something he enjoyed doing often and ten-month-old Charlotte stayed quiet and happy.

I did my best to follow their directions, checked the kitten for severe issues, and promised to bring it over as soon as possible. I didn’t know where a hot water bottle was, but I had the next best thing. I set the doggie bed Frankie never used on the couch and settled the pug and kitten in it, covering them with a corner of John’s super-soft pink fleece cuddle-blanket.

“Please stay here with the kitty. It needs to be kept warm,” I told the pug. Frankie let out something between a harrumph, a growl, and a whine, clearly hurt by my request. Of course, he was going to stay with the kitty. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing this whole time? I pet him gently and kissed his head. “I’m sorry, you’ve been doing a wonderful job. Thank you for rescuing it and keeping it safe. You’re a true hero.”

Then I washed my hands, picked up the baby, and sat down next to Sammy, placing her on my lap. He held a thick book of compiled Dr. Seuss stories in his hands. “How are you doing, Sammy?”

“I’m okay. The kitty needs you, and Charlotte and I like to read together,” he said. 

Charlotte began to get a bit fussy, so I asked, “Would you like to keep reading, or can I help?” 

“I’ll do it. You won’t do the voices right,” he said stiffly. The baby relaxed as soon as her brother resumed reading and, to my surprise, John’s nephew wasn’t telling remembered stories based on the pictures. The three-year-old was actually reading. He had to sound out the bigger words and nonsense words, which frustrated him to no end, but he still endeavored to use different voices for each character. He snuggled up next to me and I put an arm around him. I did my best to keep the kids busy and comfortable, yet not let Sammy near the kitten, constantly checking on the little thing to make sure it was okay (it seemed to be doing better and better). Part of me was worried how I’d handle ‘the worst’ happening, but a larger part was worried that the kids would be scarred for life. 

John returned an hour later, shaking his head. “The ground is too cold for me to see any paw prints, and nobody has heard of any litters. But my neighbors seem to hate me less now that I asked, so it wasn’t a total waste of time. Okay, so I’ll take the little guy to the vet and you can watch the babies.” 

He then reached forward to take the kitten. Everyone protested, but Frankie was the most vocal.

“You’re supposed to be babysitting,” I told John sternly. “And I was already the one to speak to the vet. So you watch the kids and I’ll take the kitten.”

“No!” Sammy said. “I knew it was a kitten first and nobody believed me. I’m going too!”

John shook his head at his nephew. “Your mommy said I can’t take babies to the vet.”

Sammy was indignant but I just started to laugh. “Was she afraid of germs? Or did she mean that you should take babies to a human doctor?”

“Of course sh– Okay, Joy may have meant the doctor thing, but why would she say that?” John asked. I gave him a few minutes to connect the dots and he shrugged. “I guess if I panicked… and they’re right down the street…”

“Exactly. You text Joy and harness Frankie while I bundle the kids up, and then we can all go together,” I suggested, already searching for Charlotte’s outerwear. Sammy was extremely helpful and could mostly dress himself. John’s pug protested when he was forced to stand, and we quickly discovered he had an invisible 3-foot tether to the kitten — he flipped out if they got any farther apart. So I donned the baby bjorn while John put Frankie in the doggie equivalent. We considered carrying the kitten in the pink hat, but it cried pitifully when we tried, so John tucked the tiny creature into his shirt’s breast pocket. Sammy’s little, mittened hand latched onto mine and we made our way down the street. John’s niece fell asleep halfway to the hospital, and Sammy was so well behaved that I wondered what had prompted the insanity I’d walked in on an hour ago.

They ushered us in as soon as we arrived. John had to place Frankie on the metal table so he could watch over the proceedings. The vet poked and prodded, and informed us that the tiny creature was a nine-day-old girl. John told her everything we knew and we all held our collective breath until the woman said, “You’ve done a wonderful job. She’s doing very well, considering. We can take it from here. One of the techs is calling the emergency fosters as we speak. We’ll also keep our ears to the ground about local litters.”

She began to leave the room with the kitten and Frankie nearly vaulted off the table with a yelp. 

“Wait!” John shouted. “Frankie and I can take care of her. Tell me what she needs and–”

“Are you sure?” The vet gestured to me and the children. “It looks like you have your hands full already, and she’ll need a great deal of attention. For at least the next week, she’ll need to be fed every two hours.”

“Oh, none of them are mine,” John said. It shouldn’t have hurt for him to say I wasn’t his. After all, we weren’t together. But feelings tended to defy logic. “And Frankie and I can manage for a few weeks.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “I’m a trauma nurse. I’ll be better equipped to handle an emergency.”

“You can’t take Frankie’s kitten!” John protested and the pug harrumphed in agreement. “Besides, I live right here if something happens.”

“What are you going to do with it while you’re at work? A newborn needs constant care and right now your body can’t afford to miss weeks of sleep.”

“I want the kitty!” Sammy scowled and crossed his arms when we all began to laugh. Joy would kill us if we sent her home with a three-year-old, a ten-month-old, and a nine-day-old.

“Maybe when she’s older. Frankie doesn’t like cats,” John said, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Frankie’s anti-feline stance had shifted over the past hour. “How do I take care of her?”

“How do WE take care of her?” I asked. “Frankie and I can take care of the kitten at night while you’re asleep, and you and Frankie can take care of her during the day, and we’ll work out what to do whenever we have to work.”

“Are you sure?” John asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t. But I couldn’t imagine letting go of that tiny, helpless ball of fur.

John asked his usual questions, such as whether he could create a pouch on Frankie’s harness so he could carry her around, whether we needed to buy one of those plastic aquarium tanks usually reserved for hamsters, and what kind of crocheted clothing would be most appropriate in each stage of her development.

Sammy asked about food and names and how fast she’d grow. He was suitably disgusted when the vet explained that a kitten that young needed her stomach massaged to help her potty, and decided that we could take the kitten, saying, “Helping him clean Charlotte was gross enough.” 

I just listened but, because I didn’t want to know but still had to know, I measured my words and asked, “What’s the… mortality rate?”

“Ten to forty percent,” she admitted. “But she’ll be on the lower end of that range, since she’s not in a shelter. There are a few sites online that the tech can tell you about and he can print some things out while I gather what supplies we have here. Call us anytime if you have questions or get worried. Diarrhea is the most dangerous symptom to keep an eye on.”

We thanked her and John returned the kitten to his pocket and Frankie to his bjorn. The pug sighed in relief and nuzzled his kitty. I situated the children in the waiting room while John spoke with the tech and got a feeding syringe and formula. The tech did indeed have a few sites for reference and printed out the most vital information, including a list of supplies we needed to buy.

“I’m doing this alone,” John informed me as soon as he sat down. I didn’t get a chance to protest before he kissed my cheek and begged, “Please, Tommy. You deal with enough at work. I promise I’ll let you know if it’s too much for me, and I’ll be extra watchful of my health.”

“No,” I told him. It would have been so easy to agree. But I was already attached, and I knew what I was getting into. This kitten was no different from John, in that respect. They both had significant health issues, but that couldn’t stop me from loving them. If something happened to either of them and I wasn’t there to help, I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life. “At least let me take care of her during my nights off. Getting a full night’s sleep is so important for you, right now.”

“You’re really going to insist on this, aren’t you?” he asked. John searched my eyes and heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine. But I’m taking her to work with me. The kitten will need constant attention and your patients need you to be well-rested.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t deny that he was right, but I knew he also couldn’t afford to lose sleep on days I had to work. Maybe some of our friends could help him out.

“Oh! And guess what?” John asked, so excited that I didn’t know what would follow the question. “There’s nothing wrong with her fur, she’s just ugly!”

Frankie loudly protested at the insult to his kitten. It hadn’t occurred to me that there was anything wrong with her unusual extreme-calico look. 

“She’s not ugly!” Sammy said indignantly. “If you can’t ‘pee-see-ate the kitty then you can’t have her.”

I could just eat that mini-John up. 

“I appreciate her, I was just worried,” John sniffed. “Turns out there’s a fur pattern called tortoiseshell and she’s a long-haired cat which is why she’s so tufty. The doctor says I should wait until tomorrow to wash her.”

I wasn’t sure why, but the idea of John bathing the tiny creature melted my heart even further. It was so hard to be angry with the man for breaking up with me. And for not taking care of himself. And for texting me as though his babysitting woes were a severe emergency. Okay, maybe I was still a bit angry, but that kitten was melting it away.

“They’re gathering supplies for the kitten and your mommy’s almost here,” John told his nephew. “How are you doing, Dean?”

“I’m Sam. She’s Charlotte. You need to learn our names,” the boy insisted, but leaned against his uncle. “I’m a little tired. And hungry. But I’m okay. She is too. Can I hold the kitty? Frankie and Uncle Tommy wouldn’t let me.”

John looked to me for guidance. It was too late to fight it. The boy was already attached. I couldn’t help myself from thinking about all the ways things could go poorly, but I had to stay positive. We’d do everything we could to keep the kitten healthy and safe. Worst case scenario, we tell Sammy that she found her mommy or a new family or something like that. So I nodded. John removed the kitten from his pocket and held it in front of his nephew.

“Be very gentle. She’s only 192 grams, which is approximately 1/26 of what you weigh.”

At his uncle’s words, Sammy used closed his hand and pet her with two small fingers. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.” John looked to his pug, who snorted in agreement. “Frankie and I need to figure out her personality before we name her.”

The man was just as likely to select a name usually reserved for dogs and bikers, as he was likely to choose the name of a great mathematician. And I had no idea which way the pug’s preference might swing. Frankie was named after one of the first true scientists, Sir Francis Bacon, so they might select something in a similar vein.

When John returned the kitten to his pocket, his dog sighed in relief and returned to nuzzling it. Frankie had well and truly adopted her, and it was clear that whoever took care of the kitten would simply be the pug’s assistant. 

Joy walked in the door minutes later, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the five of us. She hugged her son, ran her hand over her sleeping daughter’s hair, and kissed John and me on the cheek. We filled her in and Sammy insisted that she pet the kitty. She stroked its head with one finger and said, “An ugly little thing, isn’t it?”

Sam, Frankie, and I squawked in protest at the slight to our kitty. These Watson twins were terribly judgmental. “She’s the most adorable creature on the face of the Earth!” I protested. But, to be fair, kittens at this age were still vaguely rodent-like, she could definitely use a bath, and the tiny asymmetric splotches of black, brown, and orange didn’t form the most attractive fur pattern. 

“How were my little hellions?” Joy asked, fully aware that John had called me over because he’d had his hands full. I eyed Sammy, who looked worried. 

“They were wonderful,” I told her. Given everything that had happened, he definitely deserved a break. “Sammy does have some nudist tendencies–”

“I’m making my own s’iety!” he interjected.

“…but he’s an amazing big brother. And Charlotte had an explosive diaper but he and John handled it long before I got there. With everything that happened, he did miss dinner, so Sammy might be a little hungry. Sorry about that.”

Joy snickered, reading between the lines and doubtless imagining the scene I’d walked into. 

“He washed Charlotte in the kitchen sink!” Sammy told his mother indignantly.

“Charlie! That’s her name!” John shouted. “See, Tommy? I told you she named them after characters from Supernatural!”

“I wish you’d stop saying that. It was mere coincidence that my husband has ancestors that just happen to have names from our favorite show.” John’s sister said sternly, though a sly smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “What had you been calling her this time?”

“Abaddon? There aren’t all that many female characters on that show.”

Joy rolled her eyes. “Sammy, I’m sure Uncle John did the best he could. You know he doesn’t have a bathtub.”

Sammy pouted a bit and changed the subject. “I want to see the kitty again tomorrow!”

“How about you wait a little while?” John suggested. All the adults knew why, but it would be too hard to explain to the boy. “Right now, she spends all her time sleeping, eating, and pooping. But in a few weeks she’ll be walking around and getting into all sorts of trouble, and Frankie will have his paws full trying to keep up with her.”

Frankie nodded sagely in agreement that kittens could be as overwhelming as human toddlers.

“How sweet of you to offer!” Joy said mischievously. “Let’s give your Uncle John a little time to himself before he babysits you again, so he can focus on taking care of the kitty.”

John’s jaw dropped open at the realization that somewhere within that conversation he’d agreed to go through tonight’s madness yet again. I held back a snicker. They said their goodbyes, complete with big hugs for both of us, and John settled his pug back in his doggie bjorn. Frankie had an air of comfortable imperiousness whenever he rode in that thing, but today he turned his back on the world so he could nuzzle the kitten in John’s pocket.

“I’m not working tonight,” I told John as though that wasn’t obvious given that it was 8pm and I was still here. “So I’ll take the night shift.”

“I need more shirts with pockets,” he said, as though I hadn’t said anything. Even though his head was often somewhere else, John also knew how irritating random responses could be and enjoyed people’s reactions. “Eh, I’ll just order more of this one online.” 

“You hate that shirt. That’s why you wore it to take care of the kids,” I reminded him. He’d never said anything about that particular shirt, but it was the kind of ugly that wasn’t his usual style. “Text Julian or Xander. They’ll be able to find something that’s more you.”

“This probably comes in solid colors,” John reasoned. 

“It fits you funny. And you know they’ll love shopping for you, especially considering a cute fluffy animal is involved.” Everyone was going to go insane over the little girl. 

We walked in silence for a little while until John wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said, “Thank you for coming today. You really don’t have to help with the kitten. In fact, I would prefer if you didn’t.”

He squeezed me a little tighter to take the sting out of his words. I rubbed Frankie’s ear and asked, “Is that because having me over is weird, or because you’re protecting me?”

“I like having you over. Even though it feels a little weird, I missed you and I’m glad we can be friends. But… I worry about you. I know you can handle it, but you already…”

John looked at me with such affection and I felt magnetically drawn to this quirky, loving man. His eyes strayed to my lips and I held my breath, waiting for him to lean down and kiss me. But instead, he lifted his chin and looked off into the distance. If he were shorter, I’d at least kiss his cheek, but no amount of wishing would make his cheek more accessible. I’d have to hop or find a step-stool or something. So I settled on wrapping my arm around his waist and we resumed our walk. Because this was totally how friends walked together. Anyone with sense would look at us, with our arms around each other, a dog in a baby carrier, and a newborn kitten in a breast-pocket, and think, ‘Those men barely tolerate each other’s company.’

“It will be easier for both of us to do this together,” I told him. “We’ll be better able to deal with anything that happens. We can help each other obsess over whether she’s sick or hurt or eating enough, since she’s too young to be around other pets. Now, have you eaten yet or did the kids thoroughly distract you?”

“I had a chicken nugget to prove to Sammy they’re delicious,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “They’re not. But Joy brought them over because she said he loves them… I think he really was holding out for a dream bar. By the way, how did you do The Voice? I’ve only heard my mom and my sister pull that off. I almost ran to put on more clothes, too.”

I could lie. But this was John and he’d gone through a lot before roping me into this, so I said, “Honestly? I have no idea. I was so worried that wouldn’t work and we’d have to resort to bribing him with a dream bar, which would have totally destroyed any hope of him eating a meal.” 

“I thought we didn’t bargain with terrorists,” he said.

“There are terrorists, and then there are toddlers. You do what you have to do,” I told him in my best deep, rough-and-tumble, he-man voice. Then I tugged the papers out of John’s jacket pocket and began to make a battle plan.