Tucked inside an old cardboard box behind the market, the kitten was no bigger than a teacup. Eyes still shut, body trembling, it let out a frail mewl that cracked right through your heart. A smear of dried milk clung to its chin, and its tiny paws twitched helplessly against the chill. You didn’t hesitate. You slipped off your scarf, wrapped the kitten gently, and tucked it inside your jacket, close to your chest where it could feel your heartbeat.

The walk home was quiet, save for the rustle of fabric and the kitten’s occasional squeaks. Rain had started to spit, light and cold, but you held the bundle tighter, shielding it from the damp.

The flat was quiet when you slipped in. Johnny’s boots were by the door, still muddy. Simon’s jacket hung crookedly on the back of the couch. You crept past like a thief, careful not to creak the floorboards. Straight to the linen closet—grabbed a soft towel, one of the old ones Johnny always complained about but never threw out, and the heating pad from under the sink. You tucked the kitten in a box lined with both, rigged a little nest beside the bathroom radiator.

It let out a satisfied sigh, impossibly small, and curled into itself like it had never known comfort before. You sat back on your heels, watching its sides rise and fall.

Then—
“Oi,” came a voice from the hall. “What are you hiding?” Johhny.

You winced. Footsteps padded closer.
Simon’s voice followed, low and suspicious. “That didn’t sound like the telly.”

You sighed and turned, nudging the bathroom door wider. The hallway light spilled in, and the tiny bundle blinked in the sudden brightness—though her eyes still weren’t open.

Johnny froze in the doorway, brows raised. Simon stopped beside him, mask cocked in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” Simon muttered.

Johnny stepped closer, already folding. “You’re gonna kill me one day, y’know that?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave her,” you said, brushing your fingers gently over the kitten’s head. “She didn’t have anywhere else to go.”