The fruit vendor opened a box. From inside peeked a small face. Huge, frightened eyes seemed ready to spill over like two big drops.
“She doesn’t eat anything, probably taken from her mother too soon and tossed aside. Her fur’s matted because she’s been living in a crate meant for plums.”
The customer said nothing and walked away. The vendor sorrowfully shook his head, muttering, “Even women have no compassion now.” But after a short while, she returned.
“I can’t get your kitten out of my mind,” she said, handing him a cloth. “Wrap up the ‘merchandise.’”
“Will you take it?” the man exclaimed, delighted. He carefully bundled up the kitten and handed it to the woman as gently as if it were a child.
“This is a kind deed, truly a kind deed. You will be rewarded for it,” he repeated.
The woman smiled indulgently. “You think you’ve found a savior. I’m not sure how my husband will react to this ‘gift’. We might both end up on the street.”
And she was right. The kitten didn’t fit in at home. Even after being washed, groomed, and fed, it still looked pitiful and unkempt.
“What is this creature?” her husband scoffed, pushing the kitten away when it tried to climb his leg. The suspicious scratching of tiny claws distracted the couple from their show. The new, expensive wallpaper was at risk.
“Do we have mice? Why do we need it in our one-bedroom flat?” he reproached his wife.
Picking up the kitten by the scruff, he looked puzzled and disdainful at the helpless creature dangling from his hand. “It had better be gone by tomorrow.”
Valerie regretted her find. But the kitten looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, kneading her leg with tiny paws, purring so sweetly that a warm rush of pity flowed into her heart. She bent down and stroked it.
Encouraged by the affection, the kitten climbed into her arms, nuzzling its nose into the warmth of her palm. “There’s no kindness like one who shows kindness,” Valerie recalled her mother’s words, feeling justified in her actions.
The phone rang: “Grandma, come over for tea!”
Valerie slipped quietly out the door so as not to disturb her husband, who was absorbed in his show. Her son lived just across the street. Katie was already outside her house, waving excitedly. Suddenly, a large black car veered onto the curb. The child’s body was flung upward. Valerie froze. She couldn’t scream or move.
All she could do was watch, as if in slow motion: a woman picked the girl up. Tiny hands clutched her neck tightly. She was alive! A man struggled out of the car, visibly drunk. Her son came running, in uniform. His hands shook as he tried to pull a weapon from its holster, but then he stumbled at the sound of a cry, “No!”
His mother stood across the road, but to him, it seemed as if she was pushing him away with arms outstretched.
People rushed over, blocking his path, leading the drunk driver away. Valerie felt as if her legs weren’t there. But she walked… or was she carried? To Katie! A doctor was already examining her, feeling each bone.
“She’s fine. No fractures. No severe bruises either.”
“But why isn’t she speaking?!” her daughter-in-law trembled with large, visible shudders.
“She’s scared. We need to distract her,” suggested the doctor. “I’ll be right back.”
Valerie dashed home, picked up the kitten, explaining to her husband what had happened. She made it back just in time before the ambulance left. Fear swam in the child’s eyes. Gently, she unclenched her hands and placed the kitten in them. Katie shifted her gaze. Her fingers moved, stroking the soft fur. A gentle “Purr-purr” responded. “Perry,” the girl whispered softly. The doctor exhaled in relief. Valerie let her tears flow—it was finally safe to.
Katie didn’t let go of the kitten. They spent the night in the hospital. By morning, they were discharged with the conclusion: “The girl was born under a lucky star.” “A kindness returned to the kind,” Valerie murmured.
