Chapter 12 - Silent Breaths
The three kittens lay completely still. The black one—the one rescued by Copper’s wooden bridge—had its eyes closed, mouth slightly agape, its tiny chest flat and unmoving. The ginger one beside it was cold as stone.
""No, no, no,"" Leo whispered, pulling them out and laying them onto the dry, sheltered porch of the farmhouse where they had quickly retreated.
The old man’s daughter, Clara, wrapped a dry woolen blanket around Leo’s trembling shoulders, while her father brought a stack of clean bath towels from the hallway.
Copper lay on the porch boards, his nose inches from the limp kittens, his tail motionless.
Leo knelt on the wood, using his thumbs to gently compress the tiny chest of the black kitten, counting quietly under his breath. One, two, three. He leaned down, placing his mouth over the tiny nose and mouth, delivering the faintest puff of warm air.
""Come on,"" Leo pleaded. ""Don't quit now.""
Clara took the other two kittens, rubbing their bodies vigorously with the coarse dry towels to stimulate circulation. ""Their hearts are beating, Leo. Weak, but they're beating.""
Copper suddenly leaned forward, extending his broad, warm tongue, and began licking the black kitten’s face with long, rhythmic strokes, warming the cold snout.
A tiny, wet sneeze broke the silence.
The black kitten sputtered, coughing up a small bead of ditch water, and weakly kicked its back legs. A faint, raspy meow drifted up from the towel.
Leo let out a long, ragged breath, collapsing back against the farmhouse wall. ""They're breathing.""
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The old man walked out from the living room, holding a heavy set of keys and an old battery-powered radio.
""The north bridge is gone,"" the man said, his face grave in the porch light. ""And the storm just knocked out the town power grid. We're cut off from the clinic entirely.""
