Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,61
heating in a pot of water, watching as he positioned the kitten on its stomach inside the blanket, tipped up the bottom of the bottle, and gently rubbed the nipple back and forth across tiny cat’s lips and gums.
The kitty was having none of it, even though he had to be hungry.
“Why won’t he eat?” Jeannette frowned.
“You’ve got me. Want to try?” He held out the bottle.
After a moment, she took it, picked up the towel-swaddled bundle, and sat in a chair with the kitten on her lap. As she mimicked Logan’s actions with the nipple, she spoke in soothing tones and stroked her fingers over the feline’s exposed head.
Half a minute in, the cat latched onto the nipple and began to suck.
“He’s eating!” Molly hopped from one foot to the other.
“I bow to your bedside manner.” Logan grinned at Jeannette.
“Don’t be too hasty. I think hunger finally won out. So what’s the story on all the supplies?” She motioned toward the counter, where another bottle, several nipples, and the box of formula were lined up.
Logan pulled out the chair beside her and sat. “My earlier suspicions were correct. No organization wants to take a cat this young.”
Dismay darted through her eyes. “So what are we supposed to do?”
“Find someone to take care of him—or do it ourselves.”
She exhaled. “That won’t work with your schedule.”
“No—and I don’t know anyone in town well enough to ask them to tackle a job like this. Based on the markers I found online, this little guy’s about three weeks old. That means he’ll have to be bottle-fed every four to five hours for another week or two, at which point he can start eating canned food. He won’t be ready for adoption for five to seven weeks.”
“Wow.”
“That was my reaction too. Do you know any cat lovers who might be willing to step in?”
“No.”
That didn’t surprise him.
Jeannette may have been in town longer than him, but odds were he’d soon know more people than his reclusive neighbor did.
“I guess we can both ask around—and in the meantime, I’ll see if Mariam will feed him while she’s here.”
Not ideal, since Toby and the two girls were a handful without the addition of a helpless kitten—but what other choice did he have if Jeannette didn’t volunteer?
She focused on the task of feeding the abandoned kitty for a few silent seconds before she spoke. “It’s not fair to dump this on you. I’m the one who hauled him home.”
“I would have done the same if I’d found him.”
“But you didn’t. And I have more flexibility in my schedule—along with fewer care-and-feeding responsibilities.” She sighed. “I’ll take him.”
“Can I come see him?” Molly edged closer to Jeannette.
A few beats ticked by. “Um . . . he’ll probably sleep most of the day.”
Her message was clear—to him anyway.
She didn’t want to commit to regular visits. She’d done him a favor yesterday and today, but she was more than ready to retreat to her solitary world.
Somehow he managed to resist the temptation to let Molly exploit the soft spot Jeannette had for her. “He has to get bigger before we bother him too much, sweetie. Baby kittens that young are too little to play with.”
“I could just look at him.”
“Let’s see how he does for a few days. Why don’t you go put on your pajamas and brush your teeth?”
“Do I have to?”
“Yep. It’s bedtime. Toby can keep you company as soon as Thomma is finished with him.”
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the back door.
Logan rose, crossed the room, and twisted the knob.
Thomma handed him Toby’s leash. “He learn.”
“Good.” The sooner he could relinquish his walk-the-dog duties, the better. “Thank you.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Thomma nodded at Jeannette and retreated down the porch steps.
Logan closed the door, unclicked the leash—and the pup dashed over to Jeannette to inspect the bundle on her lap.
“Keep your distance, buddy, or you’ll freak out our friend here.” She twisted away from the curious dog.
“Molly, take Toby with you while you change into your pjs.” Logan grasped the beagle’s collar and tugged him back.
“Come on, Toby.” Molly headed toward the hall.
The pup swiveled his head both directions, as if debating whether to follow, but in the end he trotted after her.
“He’s better behaved than he used to be.” Jeannette checked on the kitten’s progress with the formula.
“Thanks to Thomma. He’s also getting the hang of the fence. The installer said training should take about two weeks, and we seem to be tracking to that schedule.” Logan