“Lucy, I think… Ive hit a cat,” I gasped into the phone.
“And?” Lucy replied, her voice steady.
“What do you mean, ‘and’? What should I do?”
“At least get out of the car and check if its still alive.”
I swallowed hard. The driveway was empty, the evening air thick with a metallic tanglike the smell of fear. Slowly, I opened the door and leaned forward without stepping out, peering under the car. And there it wasalive. A small grey bundle, trembling, but its eyes were open.
“Its alive, Lucy. Its alive… What do I do?”
“What do you mean? Take it to the clinic. Youre headed there anyway. Just hurry!”
Carefully, I lifted the catit didnt resist, just lay there, breathing heavily. I placed it on the back seat in an old shoebox that had been lying on the floor. Then I drove off.
The vets clinic was usually half an hour away. But not that day. That day, thirty minutes stretched into an eternity.
In the boot of my car, there was already an old mongrel doghit by a train. My holiday neighbours had asked me to take it to the clinic. “Have it put down humanely,” theyd said. A stray, unwanted by anyone, but we felt sorry for it. Id agreed without thinking.
And now this cat too.
I sped down the road like a madman, one thought pounding in my head:
“What kind of day is this? What kind of life is this?”
To my surprise, there was no queue at the clinic. I rushed in with the box in my arms like a man bringing his wife to the maternity wardthe vet took it immediately and whisked it away for examination.
“How is it? Will it be alright?” I paced outside the door.
“Well need an X-ray,” the nurse said. “Nothing seems broken, but well make sure.”
Fifteen minutes. An eternity. The clock mocked me, standing still as I circled the room, staring at posters of British Shorthairs and Maine Coons.
And inside, something gnawed at me. Not just worryguilt. Because I hadnt been paying attention. I shouldnt have been driving so fast. One second later, and the cat would have been safebut I was too busy wondering where to turn off for the clinic. Just one moment. One fateful clickand now here I was, begging silently: “Just let it live. Let me fix this.”
Finally, the vet returned.
“Itll need surgery.”
Then it hit methe dog was still in the car!
I ran back. Silence. No whimpers. No movement. I pressed the boot release, and it creaked open.
Two frightened eyes stared up at me from the darkness. It was alive.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Sorry well get you checked out soon.”
Back at the clinic, I grabbed the veta stern woman with sharp eyes.
“Theres a dog too. In the boot. Hit by a train. Its hind legs are well”
“We got a call about euthanasia. They said it had no chance.”
I faltered, unable to speak.
The womans face stayed blank. She just grabbed a coat and followed me.
We opened the boot. She looked at the dog, then at me. Her gaze cut through me like an X-ray.
“Are you mad? Who said it needed putting down? Yes, its legs wont heal. But it can live. Weve handled worse. Bring it in.”
I nodded. No argument. The vet had said, “Itll live.” That was enough.
That night, I burst into the house. Lucy turned from the stove, startled.
“James? Whats wrong?”
Without a word, I went to the bedroom and pulled out an old bookinside, the cash Id saved for years. A dream. A motorbike. None of it mattered now.
“James?! Whats going on?”
“Theyre going to live!” I shouted. “Both of them!”
“Who? Have you lost your mind?”
“Ill explain later!”
We kept them. The cat became Molly. The dogRover. Together, we made it through IV drips, sleepless nights, rehab.
Lucy only sighed and said,
“If theyre with us now, well make it work.”
And she did. She fed Molly, wrapped Rover in blankets. We cried when Molly took her first steps. We laughed when Rover raced across the yard in his wheelchair.
Five years passed. Theyre not pets. Theyre family.
Today, when I got home, the smell of baking filled the air. Lucy hugged me from behind, tight. And she trembled.
“Whats wrong?” I turned to her.
“Were expanding,” she whispered, her hand on her stomach.
At first, I didnt understand. Then I did.
Im forty. Shes thirty-seven. Wed tried for so long. Almost given up. Almost. But once, a peculiar woman told us:
“Youll have three children. Two from nature. One from God. For kindness. For patience. The road will be hard, but bright.”
Molly was curled up asleep on the windowsill beside a stuffed bunny. Rover, old now, shuffled over and sighed against my leg.
Back then, I didnt believe it.
NowI do.
Because once, we said “yes” to life.
And life said “yes” back.
