He glanced at the kitten.
“And a kitten wasn’t in our plans.”
“So you assumed I would say no?”
“I thought you might.”
The kitten made a tiny sound.
I looked down.
She was so small that she barely seemed real.
“How old is she?”
“The vet thinks about four weeks.”
I looked back at him.
“You took her to a veterinarian?”
“Yesterday.”
He immediately added,
“I have the paperwork.”
Of course he had paperwork.
“Documentation,” he corrected.
“In case you had questions.”
I almost laughed.
“You expected questions?”
“You usually have questions.”
That was fair.
According to the vet, she was healthy but needed treatment for worms and would soon need vaccinations.
David had kept every document.
Every instruction.
Every feeding amount.
He had even researched two reputable rescue organizations.
“Why rescue organizations?”
“In case you said we couldn’t keep her.”
He called it contingency planning.
I called it the most David thing I had ever heard.
Then he admitted something even more absurd.
During the first nights, when the kitten needed feeding every two hours, David had worried his trips through the house would wake me.
So one night, he slept in the back seat of his car.
I stared at him.
“You slept in the car?”
“The back seat was adequate for several hours.”
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