Page 105 of Checking Out the Librarian

Jonathan also blinked, made a very, very, quiet kissy noise, and let his hands slowly drop to the ground.

Was it close enough now for him to scoop his forearm under the dumpster and gather it into his hands? Or would that send it scrambling back again?

Mewwww.

The tips of tiny whiskers emerged from under the giant mean metal monster container, the tippiest tips ever to explore the world, but at least that meant he knew he could reach it. If he could be fast enough.

He let himself breathe out, and in the calm space before he inhaled, he moved.

Mew. Mew. Mew.

The miniature being cupped in his palms weighed less than a book and was shivering despite the warmth of the day. It felt as fragile as a heartbeat. He searched the back alley, but there was no evidence of a mommy cat. Probably off screwing the kitten’s coach or drinking 80 proof milk under a deck somewhere, but whatever.

The kitten wasn’t alone anymore.

In order to wave his key card at the back door, he transferred the kitten to the bend of his elbow and held it close to his body. Inside the library, he paused. What to do next seemed rather opaque.

“Jonathan?” Boss Becca appeared at his side, and Jonathan reminded himself, as he did nearly daily, that just because he separated Boss Becca from Softball Becka in his mind that way, he must never ever say either descriptor aloud to either person.

“Good work with that garbage clean up.” She frowned at him. “But what is⁠—

He looked at her.

“Right.” She clacked her teeth together. “I see it’s a kitten. But why is there a kitten?”

“Sometimes when a mommy cat has needs⁠—”

“Jonathan.”

“Well.” He looked down at his elbow and lost his thoughts. The kitten had stopped shivering and closed its eyes.

“The kitten?”

“I took the garbage to the dumpster, and this was crying underneath and I couldn’t leave it, I couldn’t.” He wasn’t precisely babbling, but he definitely needed to stop.

“Of course not.”

He felt a surge of relief at her approval. “What should we do?”

“No idea. I have a corgi.” She swept her arm across the air in front of her. “But I hear people can find answers to questions in this place.”

“I mean, it must need…milk?”

“What’s going—ohhhh!” Lily interrupted herself, and her rising voice made Jonathan clutch his fragile bundle to his chest. Wait, it was dirty. It had been on the ground in the alley. But it was little and cold, and today he was wearing black.

His boss was explaining the kitten’s origin story to Lily and the parent and child who had also joined their small group, completely uninvited and unauthorized. This was getting out of hand. Undernourished, cold kittens did not like crowds.

“And you should take it to a vet. It needs to be checked for worms and eye infections and the like. You could try the West Side shelter, they have a good reputation,” the patron was talking as if this was Becca’s kitten or she was in charge.

Well, actually, she was in charge. But it was Jonathan’s kitten.

“The shelter might be able to find it a home, although it looks awfully young.” The woman peered closer. “Maybe about three weeks old? I grew up on a farm with lots of cats.”

That answered the who made you an expert question he hadn’t spoken out loud. “No shelters!”

This kitten needed a loving, nurturing, stable home, perhaps some Egyptian cotton towels warmed in the dryer, and attention. It needed attention.

“Jonathan.” Boss Becca used the cease-prattling voice, quiet enough for the library but firm enough that Jonathan practiced his own version in the mirror at home. “Take the kitten to the break room. Settle it before more patrons discover what you have and arrive like moths to a flame.”