The only sounds were the crackling of logs in the fireplace and the quiet, contented purr of the gray cat sleeping. Eleanor looked at them and knew: she would save them. Not out of pity. But because they were her last chance to justify her cold, empty life before it was too late.
The nights in the vast mansion had always been dead silent, but tonight, it was breathing. Eleanor was awakened not by a sound, but by a strange, prickly sense of unease. She threw a silk robe over her shoulders and stepped into the hallway.
From the living room came a muffled sob and ragged, heavy breathing. A drama was unfolding in the circle of light from an old table lamp. Luna was thrashing on her makeshift bed, her gray sides heaving. The man was on his knees, his broad shoulders shaking, his face pale with helplessness. Beside him, clutching the edge of the blanket, Alice was crying.
— She can’t do it, Daddy, it hurts her, — the girl whispered, large tears rolling down her cheeks.
Susan was bustling nearby with a basin of warm water and a stack of clean towels.
— She’s too weak. She was completely exhausted, she just doesn’t have the strength.
Eleanor stopped in the doorway. Her rational mind screamed: call a vet, go back to your room, it’s just an animal. But her feet carried her forward on their own. She walked over and, without a second thought, knelt on the hard floor. The expensive silk of her robe was instantly soaked, but she didn’t care.
— Susan, bring the lamp closer! — Eleanor’s voice was sharp, like a command. — Mike, hold her head, keep her calm.
She looked at the cat. Luna’s amber eyes were full of pleading and pain. Eleanor gently touched the animal’s hot belly. Her hands, always so steady in business, were trembling slightly now, but something ancient and maternal had awakened within her.
— Come on, sweet girl, come on, — Eleanor whispered, helping Luna. — We’re here. We won’t leave you.
The first kitten arrived after an agonizing half-hour. Then the second, third, and fourth. Tiny gray bundles, barely squeaking, immediately nuzzled into their mother’s warm side. But Luna still wasn’t calm. A fifth, the last one, came into the world.
A heavy, dreadful silence fell over the room. The fifth kitten lay motionless in Eleanor’s palm. Wet, tiny, it wasn’t breathing. The man lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hands.
— That’s it. It didn’t make it.
— Save him! — Alice rushed to Eleanor, grabbing her hands. — Please, Ms. Eleanor, save him, he’s so little!
Eleanor looked at the lifeless little body. In that moment, she saw not just a kitten. She saw her own life, just as fragile and doomed. She suddenly knew: if this little one didn’t start breathing now, the light in her own soul would be extinguished for good.
She grabbed a piece of a rough towel and began to rub the tiny back, quickly but gently.
— Come on, — she whispered, clenching her teeth, — breathe! Don’t you dare give up. Do you hear me? Live!
A second passed, then another… an eternity. And then, a sound escaped the tiny mouth. A thin, piercing squeak, like a snapping string. The kitten twitched a paw and stirred.
— It’s alive! — Susan cried out, making the sign of the cross.
Alice, now crying with happiness, suddenly threw her arms around Eleanor’s neck. She hugged her as tightly as a rescued child can. Eleanor froze. Her soiled hands hovered in the air for a moment, and then she slowly, gently hugged the girl back. For the first time in many years, Eleanor felt truly warm. Not from the fireplace, not from expensive cashmere, but from the living, beating heart next to hers.
She looked up and met the man’s gaze. In his tear-filled eyes, she read something that no amount of money could buy—deep, sincere gratitude. That night, in the cold mansion, it wasn’t just five kittens that were born. That night, a family was born.
Mornings in Eleanor’s house no longer began with the ringing, sterile silence she had once considered a sign of status and peace. Now, the house awoke to the faint pitter-patter of tiny paws, muffled laughter from the kitchen, and the cozy smell of cinnamon pancakes.
Two weeks had passed since that memorable night. The house, which for years had seemed to Eleanor like a spacious but cold box for her loneliness, had suddenly started to breathe. The walls seemed to fill with warmth, and the light from the windows was no longer just a physical phenomenon—it felt alive.
In the living room, by the fireplace, Luna sat proudly on a wide cushion. Her gray fur had regained its sheen, and her amber eyes held the calm dignity of a queen. Five little bundles of fur squirmed beside her. The fifth one, the one Eleanor had literally snatched from death, was the most adventurous. He was constantly trying to escape the cushion, scrambling with his short legs and filling the room with demanding squeaks.
Eleanor stood in the doorway, watching the idyllic scene. She caught herself smiling. Not the polite, cold smile for business partners, but a real one, with her eyes, feeling an unaccustomed lightness in her soul.
From the kitchen came Alice’s cheerful voice:
— Susan, has Luna had her breakfast yet? Can I take her a piece of cheese?
— She doesn’t need cheese right now, — the housekeeper replied, her tone gruff but laced with undeniable affection. — She’s on a special diet. You’d better wipe the flour off the counter, my little helper.
Susan, who on the first day had threatened to quit over the “vagrants,” was now baking animal-shaped cookies for Alice and secretly adding an extra serving of meat to her father’s plate. She was melting before their eyes, transforming from a strict housekeeper into the kind grandmother she never had the chance to be.
Mike was in the hallway, fixing the antique lock on the massive oak door. His hands, accustomed to heavy labor, moved with care and precision.
— I also tightened the faucet in the bathroom, — he said, noticing Eleanor, and shyly wiped his hands on a rag. — And a step was creaky on the back porch, so I reinforced it.
Eleanor came closer….
Comments are closed.