Page 2 of Keystrokes and Kittens

A long silence ensued.

“That can’t be right.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. We can only do what we can do.”

My heart squeezed. “There’s got to be something. Someone.”

“You’re free to post on the internet that you’re looking for a foster home. There might be someone. You’re in Hartsville, right? Near Foggy Basin? You might find someone up that way.”

I wanted to seize her optimism and run with it, but something stirred inside me. Something I’d not felt for a very long time. Despair. Pure and simple. I was panicked about these little ones and their future. “And if I keep them? What does that require?”

“Let me email you the package we give to all kitten foster parents. The thing is a step-by-step guide to everything you need to know. What’s your email?”

I rattled it off to her.

“Okay. I’m here to answer questions, and I’m sorry I can’t be more help.” She cut the line before I could thank her.

The panic didn’t subside as I eyed the kittens, but my email pinged and I eagerly opened the message—hopeful it might contain the answers to the universe.

Alas, it had only the care of kittens. Which was enough to get me started. I needed to run them over to Dr. Genner at the Hartsville vet clinic. They were too young to get shots, but given the state I’d found them in, they needed to be seen. I reread the instructions.

Okay. A source of constant heat, but also a space in the box where they could crawl if they overheated. Bottle-feeding every few hours with kitten formula. Okay, those two I’d done. Next? Stimulating them to go to the bathroom after each meal.

Well…yuck. I’d never had a pet, so all the functions and fluids were beyond me. I knew how to scoop dog poop and take care of cat litter boxes, but that was about it. We didn’t have animals in the store. We sponsored adoption days—but the dogs and cats arrived, stayed the day with supervision, and whoever wasn’t rescued went back to the shelter. The animals were never my responsibility.

Okay, get your shit together. I pulled out a pen and paper and wrote down everything I’d need to secure that I didn’t have ready access to. First on that list was a heating pad. One that didn’t have a safety that would trigger it to turn off after a few hours. As the list grew, so did my despair. No way could I manage this.

I pulled up the local digital bulletin board. After snapping pictures of the kittens, I placed a notice requesting a foster home. Okay, more like begging for one. Because I really needed help.

After watching three videos about stimulating kittens to pee, I gave it a shot. And yeah, gross. But also success. So I’d take thatfor the win. I cleaned the little ones. Then I refilled the water bottle. Finally, I took the box out to Desiree at the front desk.

She eyed me.

“Just until I’m back.”

“And where are you going?” Said in that officious voice that made me question who was the boss.

“The drugstore. I should be able to get everything I need.” I clutched my list.

She nodded. “Just this once. Kittens aren’t my thing. Other people’s are just fine. I have no interest in them myself.”

Which I sort of had known—and was the reason I wasn’t asking her to consider fostering. “I’ll be right back.”

“See that you are.” She made a shooing motion.

Which, under other circumstances, might’ve been funny. Today, though, it just doubled my stress. I hotfooted my way to the pharmacy, bought everything on my list, and was back at The Pet Pantry in record time.

Desiree gave me an approving look as I scooped up the box and brought it to my office with me.

I set up the heating pad—remembering to give them a cooling off space—and then placed an order for several small blankets with an online company. They’d be delivered this afternoon. That way they’d have fresh bedding. Which also meant doing laundry, but whatever. If they needed something, they were damn well going to get it.

After letting out a long breath, I checked the instructions again.

Crap—they’d be due for a feeding shortly.

I still had yesterday’s order in the back, waiting to be put on the shelves. We were low on several products—they were obviously the priority. Although I adored Desiree, she couldn’t lift the heavy bags of food. She minded the cash while I did the physical labor. That worked. I yanked out my phone, set analarm, and then headed to the pallets of dog food needing to be put away.

Before I knew it, the alarm sounded.