Suddenly, as he was thinking this, he heard a soft mewing sound from the gutter. Surveying his surroundings, Vinzent stooped to the level of a brittle cardboard box that had been discarded at the back door of somebody’s house. Peeping in, he saw two tiny bundles of fur.
Carefully, he stretched his hand into the box. A warm soft body pressed against his hand and a moment later he felt a leathery tongue run over his little finger. A thrill ran through our hero, and he studied the situation with an inkling of hope.
These two kittens had been abandoned: that much was clear. Abandoned! These sweet, perfect, alive little kittens had been abandoned, left to fend for themselves in a big, dark, terrifying world.
Vinzent lifted them up. Each kitten fitted exactly into the palm of his hand. He felt their hearts beating on his skin, and one of them began to vibrate with deep purrs of pleasure and gratitude. He smiled, love in his eyes. He had already lost his heart in his loneliness to these two tiny alive creatures.
Back at his large townhouse, Vinzent fetched two small dishes from the crockery shelves. He filled one with water, and the other with biscuit ground to crumb with his mother’s old clay mortar and pestle.
The kittens were very tiny. They lapped up the water and then curled up together on the rug in his bedroom. He had noticed that they had bright blue eyes, probably just opened that day, for they were wide and unused to the light. They were so small they could be just a week or two old. One was furry and grey, and the other sleek and black. Flotsam and Jetsam.
Vinzent switched off the light and opened the window. Bending his long neck, he leaned out for a moment. He raised his eyes to gaze up at the stars, burning like millions of tiny pin pricks making holes of light in the black universe. He wondered if Aoife liked kittens.