LITMIR.BIZ

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Friday night of a holiday weekend?”

      “What can I say?” He starts to laugh.

      “What?”

      He points at my hand. “I just noticed you don’t wear a wedding ring.”

      “That’s because I’m single.”

      “You live by yourself?”

      “Yeah. Why? You want my phone number?”

      “Nah, it just hit me. Thirtysomething unmarried woman who lives alone.” He points at the box. “You’ve got yourself a cat lady starter kit.”

      Stuck in traffic with four crying kittens is not my idea of a fun Friday night. I keep staring at the pull on my jacket, wondering if it can be fixed. And even if it can I would still know it’s there.

      Meanwhile, I have more pressing problems to deal with. I need someone to take said problems off my hands.

      I hit the hands-free button on the steering column to access my cell phone, then ask the robot with the clipped female voice a question. “Find all animal shelters on Staten Island.”

      Beep. “There are three animal shelters on Staten Island.”

      I pump my fist. “Yes!” Back to the robot. “Find an animal shelter on Staten Island that is currently open.”

      I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as the traffic begins to move. Beep. “There are no animal shelters currently open on Staten Island. The next shelter opening is at eight a.m. on Monday morning. Would you like directions?”

      “Sonofabitch!”

      Beep. “I do not appreciate your language. Please rephrase in a more dignified manner.”

      Just what I need, a snooty cell phone. “Why is this happening to me?”

      Beep. “Your question needs to be more specific. Please re-phrase it—”

      “Oh, shut the hell up!”

      Beep. “I do not appreciate your language. Please—”

      I pound the steering wheel, turning off the phone.

      There’s only one option left as I head for home.

      “Please, God, let him be home.”

      I bound up the steps of the house belonging to the veterinarian who lives next door. The kittens are still crying as I jam my finger into the doorbell several times.

      “Coming! Keep your shirt on!”

      “Thank you, God.” I hear footsteps and see a figure moving toward me through the beveled glass. The door opens and I exhale as I see my neighbor. “Jeff, so glad you’re home.”

      The fortyish vet with short salt-and-pepper hair looks at the box of kittens. “Madison, you shouldn’t have. What’s going on?”

      “I was doing a story on the demolition of the stadium and we found them in one of the offices. The mother cat was dead and they won’t stop crying and I know they’re hungry and I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow and could you take them—”

      “Whoa, hold on. I’ve got a plane to catch in a couple hours for my own vacation.”

      “Is there a shelter open?”

      “Not at this hour and kittens this young need to be bottle fed.” He takes the box from me. “C’mon inside, I’ve got some formula and bottles.”

      I follow him and shut the door. “Wait a minute … bottle fed?”

      The short, slightly built vet nods. “It’s pretty common for orphaned kittens. Same as feeding a baby. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

      “Me?”

      “Like I said, I’ve gotta go but don’t worry, it’s simple. From the looks of them, they need to be fed right now or they won’t survive.”

      He leads me into the kitchen, then pulls a cardboard box from a cabinet. He opens it, revealing half a dozen cans. My eyes widen as he pulls one out and I read the label. “There’s such a thing as formula for kittens? Can’t you just heat up some milk?”

      “They need special nutrients. This stuff is close to cat’s milk as far as what it will do for kittens.” He grabs a couple of tiny plastic bottles from a drawer. He opens the can, fills both bottles, then hands one to me. He gently takes the kitten that looks like a tiger and holds the bottle to its mouth. It latches on with tiny paws and begins to eat immediately. “Poor little guy is hungry. Go ahead, Madison, grab a kitten and feed it.”

      “Well, okay.” I reach into the box and gently pick up the kitten with all the colorful markings, then follow the lead of the vet. I can’t help but smile as the tiny kitten doesn’t take long to start draining the bottle. If only a photographer was here because this image is beyond cute. “Wow, he picked that up pretty quick.”

      “See how easy it is? You’re a natural.”

      “I’ve never done this with a baby. I’m an only child and didn’t work as a babysitter. I wouldn’t even know how to change a diaper.”

      “Well, now you’re a cat foster parent.” His kitten finishes the bottle. “And you can’t forget to burp your kitten.”

      “You gotta be kidding me.”

      “Watch. Very gently.” He places the kitten on his shoulder and softly taps it on the back with two fingers until it lets out a tiny burp.

      I follow his lead with my kitten. It responds with a burp, then begins to purr, gives me a lick on my neck, then rests its head on my shoulder as it looks up at me. My anxiety seems to drain in an instant. “Awww.”

      Jeff cocks his head at the kitten. “He just thanked you.”

      I turn to look at the kitten. “You’re very welcome, little guy.”

      We feed the other two kittens and put them back in the box where they quickly move together into a ball and fall asleep. “Okay, Madison, there’s enough formula here to hold you for a couple of days. You need to feed them every few hours.”

      “Huh? Two a.m. feedings for cats?”

      “They need constant care. Right now they’re helpless. And keep them in a warm place. If you have a stuffed animal put it in the box and it will make them feel more secure. A ticking clock helps to take the place of the mother’s heartbeat.” He reaches into another drawer and pulls out a bag of cotton balls. “You also have to encourage them to answer nature’s call after you feed them.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “The mother cat stimulates the area where they pee and poop with her tongue. You’ll have to do it with your finger.”

      Okay, that makes my face tighten. “Huh? I have to touch …”

      “You also need warm water and some cotton balls. I’ll show you how it works, and how to clean them when they’re done.”

      It tightens some more. “I’ve gotta bathe them too?”

      “No, but you have to keep them clean. It’s simple, Madison. Anyway, you can adopt them out in a few weeks.”

      My face has now reached the point where I look like a woman who’s overdosed on Botox. “Weeks? Did you say weeks?”

      “Yeah. Once they learn to take care of themselves.”

      “Jeff, don’t you know anyone who can take them? I’m supposed to be leaving for a vacation in the Hamptons. My boyfriend is picking me up first thing in the morning.”

      “Sorry, no foster homes for four orphaned kittens on a Friday night of a holiday weekend. Take ‘em with you. You’ll do fine.” He studies my face for a moment, then takes

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