Geraldine didn’t appreciate that stray yellow cat that dropped her kitten at the front door. There it was though, eyes open, wobbly legged, barely weaned, and yellow as its mama. She thought of just sweeping it off the porch like trash. What else could it eat besides milk? Shit. She’d have to go to Walmart.
Her kids would be home from school in a minute and they’d want to keep the thing. She’d never be able to stand up to their whining and begging. It wobbled toward her, sensing her presence, feeling her energy, hearing her breath.
She could pick it up and just put it on her neighbor’s porch. Anything could happen. It wobbled toward her again, its front legs failed. It fell on its face. She felt sorry for it.
She’d be the one taking care of the damned thing. She’d be the one cleaning up after it, feeding it, sweeping the cat hair out of every corner in the house. It was so tiny, it probably wouldn’t live anyway. It was too helpless, too small.
It would be a good lesson for the kids. Show them how life worked, they’d never had to take care of anything that might not live before. It would be good for them. Give them some responsibility. If it made it to Monday, they could have it.
Geraldine picked up the kitten and snuggled it close. She felt it purr against her breast as the kids walked up the steps to the house. She wasn’t expecting that.
She could see their mouths drop open. “This is Ginger Tom.” she said, and handed him over. “See that he lives.”
First published in the Author’s Collective/Flash Fiction
Devonne Brown 
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