Paw Prints in the Moonlight Read Online Free Page A

down because its chances of survival without a mother were nil. It began to register in my sleepy mind that I had accepted a challenge which would require
enormous luck as well as determination and effort. And then it dawned upon me that I was no longer thinking of the kitten as an ‘it’ but as a ‘him’. Too tired to think anymore, I slipped into a deep sleep.
    Fortunately, the following day was Saturday which I would normally spend at home. In view of last night’s adventures, this was to prove fortunate in the kitten’s struggle for survival. As soon as I awoke I remembered everything that had transpired the night before with startling clarity. I wanted to rush out of bed immediately and check that the kitten had not died during the night. I didn’t, though, because I was scared of what I might find. As I lay in bed worrying I began to think negative thoughts like those I’d had the night before regarding the immensity of the task facing me. For one thing I very much enjoyed leading an independent life with as few ties and commitments as possible. Having a sick kitten to look after would certainly intrude upon my space and freedom. And ideally the little creature needed good nurturing from his mother for at least another month. ‘Face reality!’ I told myself. But the she-cat was no longer with us and I had impulsively, but nonetheless willingly, taken responsibility for at least trying to salvage something worthwhile from the tragedy. It was therefore my job to see it through to some kind of satisfactory conclusion. Resolving to deal sensibly with whatever I would find downstairs, I got out of bed.

    There are many advantages to living in an ancient stone cottage with walls which are almost three feet thick. One of these is the insulation from the world outside, not only in terms of sound but also temperature. On the hottest days of summer the inside of the cottage is pleasantly cool, shielded by the thick stone walls from the heat outside. In winter the reverse is true as the heat from the fire is retained by those very same stone walls. Downstairs was still warm from yesterday’s fire, giving it a homely atmosphere.
    Apprehensively, I approached the box in which I’d placed the kitten. At first I couldn’t see him but on closer inspection there he lay: a coiled mite of fur with only the slightest body movements which I took to be his breathing. I felt rewarded beyond my wildest hopes but knew it was too early to expect that everything would be alright.
    Feeling really happy, I set about restoring the cottage to good order and soon the fire was blazing and the smell of coffee and grilled bacon filled the air so that everything felt cosy and warm, in sharp contrast to the wintry scenes outdoors. Overnight the weather had grown more severe and temperatures had dropped below freezing. Later, when I replenished the bird-table with the breakfast leftovers, the thermometer near the birdbath read -5C. Opening the front door to collect the milk required a supreme effort because the windblown snow had frozen and sealed the door edges to the frame during the night. It also required
a big effort to free the bottles from the ice which held them fast. The milkman must have had a superhuman struggle to deliver the milk at all. I was most thankful for his toil.
    The open porch had been transformed overnight into an ice house, festooned with long icicles sparkling in the morning sun. Inspecting the frozen bottles of milk I saw that the blue tits had been there before me and had pecked neat little holes in the silver tops. Nearby, in a stand of pine trees across the road, a pair of magpies chittered in annoyance at me. Obviously, they also had their eyes on the milk.
    The wintry scenery was breathtaking in its beauty but piercingly cold. The trees drooped under heavy garlands of snow. In addition there was an otherworldliness about everything, cloaked as it was in arctic white. The