One Sunday. Couldn’t she have just one Sunday that didn’t involve lying in the dirt searching for kittens?
‘And you’re sure they’re under here?’ Sera called over her shoulder as she wriggled beneath the house. The beam from her torch bounced off a cluster of old paint tins.
‘Definitely,’ the woman said. ‘At least, I think so.’
From where Sera was lying, all she could see was the woman’s feet, and the hot pink nail polish adorning her perfectly pedicured toes.
She sighed. I should get a pedi. Though what would be the point? She was always wearing boots.
Turning back to the jumble of bric-a-brac cluttering the home’s foundations, Sera pushed aside a cobweb and wiggled forward commando-style, all elbows and knees.
Her torch caught a glint of something in the gloom. A jet-black ball of fluff was pressed against the wall, its eyes wide and its back arched. Sera edged closer, hand slowly extending towards the terrified kitten. It swatted at her then hissed, so bold and fierce that she quietly laughed.
‘It’s okay, little one,’ she whispered. With a swift grab, she had the spitting creature by the scruff of the neck. ‘Come on, tough guy. Let’s get you safe.’
She cradled the kitten in the crook of her arm, stuffed her torch into her bra and wormed backwards across the rough ground, reversing butt-first into the daylight.
‘One,’ she said.
Her dog, Buffy, bounded forward and licked her face.
‘Ew. Buff!’ She shooed away the excited Staffordshire Terrier-cross, pushed herself up with a low groan, and handed the kitten to the woman
with the pink pedi.
‘Take this for me for a sec?’ Buffy continued to bounce about eagerly. ‘Is your dog okay?’ the woman asked, holding the kitten aloft like Simba in the opening scene of The Lion King.
Sera arranged the pet crate on the shaded part of the woman’s deck.
‘She’s fine. She loves kittens.’
The woman nodded and tentatively showed her tiny charge to the wagging dog, who slurped the kitten with her enormous pink tongue. Sera took the soggy kitten and popped it into the crate. It scurried to the back, cowering on a red tartan blanket and hissing furiously. Buffy lay beside the crate, her head between her paws and her tail thumping on the wooden deck…
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