Ella balanced the tiny kitten carrier on her hip as she pushed open the door to her apartment. The little gray tabby inside shivered and mewed, wide eyes peeking through the mesh.
“You are going to be just fine,” Ella murmured, setting the carrier gently on her kitchen floor. She had said it a so many times to dozens of fosters before, yet every time, she meant it.
She’d met Sam at the shelter that morning. He was the new Thursday volunteer, tall, with mussed hair and a habit of apologizing whenever he spoke. He’d arrived just in time to help wrangle the frightened kitten into the carrier, his big hands surprisingly gentle.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed, kneeling beside Ella as she coaxed the kitten from beneath a rusty desk. “Any tips?”
“Patience,” Ella replied, “and chicken baby food. Works every time.”
They had exchanged numbers, in case the kitten needed extra care or if Sam wanted updates. He’d beamed, promising he’d check in, just to make sure things went smoothly.
Now, as Ella opened the carrier door, the kitten crept out, tail tucked, ears flattened.
“You’re safe now, little one,” she whispered, scratching beneath its chin.
Her phone buzzed—a text from Sam.
How’s our rescue doing? Did she eat?
Ella smiled.
Nervous, but took a few bites. I think she likes your calming voice!
Should I come by tomorrow to check on you both? For moral support? Or company? Or…just kitten cuddles?
Ella laughed and typed back:
Kitten therapy is always welcome.
The next evening, Sam arrived after his shift, balancing a box of chicken baby food in one hand and a bouquet of daisies in the other.
“For you and for the patient,” he said with a sheepish grin.
Ella took the flowers, laughter in her eyes. “Thank you. She’s already better just knowing she has admirers.”
He knelt quietly by the bundled kitten, letting her sniff his fingers. “She doesn’t look so scared today.”
“I think she remembers your voice,” Ella said. “Yesterday, after you texted, she curled up right here.” She pointed to a sunny patch by the window.
For a while, they sat together, coaxing the kitten with tiny spoons of food. Conversation came naturally, drifting from pets they’d had as kids to favorite Halloween costumes.
“Cat burglar,” Sam announced, to groans from Ella.
Under their combined care, the kitten gradually emerged from the carrier where she had been hiding, first paw, then nose, then a full-on sprawl across Sam’s knee.
“She’s got taste,” Sam said, scratching behind the kitten’s ear.
“She’s got better judgment than most people.” Ella nudged him with her elbow, and Sam grinned.
After an hour, Sam stood to leave but lingered in the doorway.
“I guess you’ll let the shelter know when she’s ready for adoption?” he asked.
“That’s how it usually works,” Ella said. She glanced down at the kitten, now sleeping with her paw wrapped firmly around her thumb. “But sometimes… sometimes they tell you where they belong.”
Sam looked at Ella and took a breath.
“I’d like to help, if that’s okay. Maybe help with her transition. To her forever home.”
Ella realized in that moment she didn’t want to see Sam go, just as she hated the thought of saying goodbye to the kitten.
“Maybe… her forever home isn’t far from here.” After a pause, she added, “Would you…maybe come by at least once more to check on her? Stay for dinner next time?”
His answering smile was as warm as sunlight on fur.
“I’d like that,” he said.
From then on, Friday nights found the three of them curled up together, one foster mom, one new volunteer, and one rescued kitten who brought them all home.