Ten
The tortoiseshell kitten with one good eye and a limp awoke first, emerging from the ball of fur comprised of his three siblings. Light from the setting sun filtered into the abandoned room as he moved toward his mother, eagerly awaiting the quick bath she gave him every day. She was still asleep so he nuzzled her chin.
She didn’t move.
He bumped her with his head. Still nothing.
Her mouth hung open. She wasn’t breathing.
And she was cold.
His heart rate spiked as he went back to wake his siblings.
The three kittens stirred from their slumber and moved toward their mother.
The tabby knew it was in trouble.
The black and white tuxedo kitten felt pangs of hunger.
The Russian blue kitten’s eyes filled with fear.
Suddenly a nearby noise grabbed the tortoiseshell’s attention. His ears perked up. He couldn’t see very well or jump, but he was blessed with a very loud voice.
He began to cry.
My face tightens as the construction crew chief hands me and my photographer a hard hat each. “Do I really have to wear this?”
The construction foreman nods. “Sorry, Miss Shaw. Unless you want a block of concrete falling on your head. The stadium is about to come down without the help of our demolition crew.”
I roll my green eyes as I put on the plastic yellow hat, mashing my salon-perfect copper curls. “My two hundred dollar hair appointment this morning, shot to hell.”
My burly, middle-aged photographer shakes his head. “Awww, poor Madison and her six-figure salary. Careful you don’t break a nail, Network.”
Yeah, that’s my nickname, which I hate. Even though I’m a network television reporter.
The foreman laughs as he puts his hard hat atop his thick gray hair. “High maintenance, huh?”
The photographer nods. “She’s raised it to an art form. Who else wears four inch heels to a demolition story?”
My jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t even be covering this if Joe wasn’t out sick. I am a national political reporter in case you forgot.”
