Paw Prints in the Moonlight Read Online Free Page B

sound of the traffic was muffled as were the cries of the children sledging on the snowbanks above the river, a happy reminder of my own childhood in winters past.
    Returning indoors, the temptation was to huddle up by the fire with a hot drink and observe the snowy wilderness through the glass of the patio door. Rousing myself from the desire to spend the day cosseted as a ‘couch potato’ in the armchair by the fireside, I began to address the more immediate problems of rearing the sole survivor of last night’s storm.
    That day was spent working urgently to save the kitten
from reaching a life-threatening point of no return. I fed him with the fountain pen sac and kept him warm. I washed and cleaned him, stroking him with a cotton wool ball lightly dipped in lukewarm water to mimic his mother’s licking and grooming behaviour. During it all I spoke tenderly to him to soothe him and encourage him to live. I did little else but minister to the kitten, even to the point of sitting next to his box, which lay close to the hearth, whilst I was sipping a hot drink. I sat by him, coffee mug in hand, watching him anxiously and speaking to him softly as he slept the day away.
    Looking at him as he slept, I was in awe of the capacity of cats to sleep at will and with absolute relaxation. We have created the term ‘catnap’ to describe the luxury of a short but reviving sleep, often taken in the comfort of a favourite armchair. For cats, sleeping is not only restful but also a healing process and I fervently hoped that was the case for this kitten. Still, healing takes time. This kitten needed time to sleep in safety, as well as warmth, with food and lots of tender loving care. My cottage had been effectively turned into a nursing home to enable this tiny cat to live as a testament not only to his own instinct for survival, but to my adamant refusal to abandon him and, of course, to my commitment to his care.
    I told myself all of this as I retired once more to my bed after a final check that the kitten looked to be sleeping peacefully, apart from occasional brief body spasms. I found
it difficult to sleep that night and kept waking to tiptoe downstairs to keep the fire going and alleviate my anxiety about the kitten. It was similar, I assumed, to looking after a baby or a sick child and I became aware that I was adopting essentially the role of substitute parent.
    As I nursed the kitten through these anxious early days of our life together, I reflected on how Owl Cottage fulfilled a long-held ambition of mine to live in the country after enduring several years in London at the start of my career. It had always been my intention to have a pet, most probably a kitten, as soon as I had a house with a garden. My dream of a house and garden had now become a reality but a pet had not been quite so high on my agenda at that particular moment in time.
    Since buying and making my home in Owl Cottage over a year ago I had very much enjoyed living alone but it looked as if fate had taken a hand in my affairs. Out of the blue, I now had another life to consider, albeit one that sadly might cease at any moment. This tiny wild creature in just a few hours had made me realize how empty my home life had been without another living thing to care for. I found that I was rapidly changing my mind about being a completely free agent. Indeed, I was growing to like the thought of having another living creature to share my home with. I began to rejoice in the idea, however challenging, of raising this kitten as a pet.

    Sunday morning came with a deep winter look about it. All the window panes were frosted over with what as children we called Jack Frost stars. Downstairs the cottage remained warm and I could see in the dim light that there were traces of glowing embers left amongst the ashes. Soon I had the fire roaring up the chimney, bringing the cottage awake again. Now I had to address the question of caring for this very sick