Squirt's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

From his high perch, Squirt heard the cries shift. Hunger, not fear. Four small mouths, opening and closing on empty air. The warm stone could not feed them. Neither could he. His chest tightened. They would weaken before the night was out if he did nothing. He leapt down and pulled a slim leather book from beneath the cabinet. Its pages glowed faintly in the low light. He pawed it open and pressed a claw against the first blank line. Milk. Bottle. Vendor. He drew a simple route in his head and marked each step. A plan, written down, could not be forgotten. He found a clear glass bottle on a low shelf, cork still snug in its mouth. He carried it gently between his teeth and slipped out into the cool morning. The cries faded behind him. His paws moved fast across the stones. The milk stall stood open already, awning bright, bottles lined in tidy rows. Squirt set his bottle on the counter and stared up. The vendor understood. Warm milk poured in. The cork went back. Squirt paid with a small bright coin from his logbook's pouch and turned for home. Back at the nest, he tipped a careful drop onto his paw and offered it to the smallest kitten. She latched on. Then the next. Then the next. One by one, the crying stopped. Squirt sat back, bottle half full, and felt his shoulders drop. They were fed. But the bottle would empty again by midday, and he had only one coin left.