and carrying and dumping debris in large metal bins.
Debbie was ten steps ahead with Hill and Fronteria when she looked back. “Bob,” she shouted. “Are you okay? Stay with us.”
“Shhhh. I hear the kittens again.”
Debbie cupped her hand to her ear. “What?”
Bob ran to Debbie and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I said I hear those kittens crying out again.”
Debbie’s eyes rolled a one-eighty. “Bob, there are no cats here.”
“Maybe feral cats,” Hill yelled.
The meowing grew more intense. They tugged on his heart to help them. He discerned thirteen individual meows among the cacophony of crying kittens.
“Yes, there are cats.” Bob said forcefully. “I can hear their unmistakable mews.”
Hill pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew. His crew and the loud noise they made stopped. He held up his arm and motioned. “Everyone, take five. I need you to be quiet for a minute.”
“What’s going on,” a crew member asked.
“I want you all to listen for the sound of kittens.”
A strange silence fell as the crew looked bewildered at the boss, then around at each other.
DeShawn Hill’s eyes widened and he made a little huff sound. “I hear it too. The sound of little kittens meowing.”
“So do I,” Debbie said. “Honey, you’re not losing your mind, like Grandma said.”
Bob knew Debbie let that slip out. “I can assure you, I’m in a perfectly sound state of mind.”
One of the workers with a shovel and wheel barrel bent over a pile of burned timber on the main foundation. “Hey boss, there are some little kittens here in the rubble.”
Within seconds, everyone crowded around the mound of weather rotted, mismatched planks and boards and began pulling out tiny pussycats.
“Thirteen,” a hired hand said. “There’s thirteen of ‘em.” He held one up, cradled in his upright palm. “These’s sure some cute li’l rascals.”
DeShawn Hill’s big burley crew cuddled the tiny multi-colored cats. They ooh’d and ah’d over them. The kittens looked like helpless wee puffs of fur in their large hands. Bob and Debbie joined the crowd along with Hill and Fronteria.
One of the workers went to his truck and returned with a cardboard box and clean rags lining the bottom. “Put the li’l fuzz balls in here.”
Hill turned to Bob. “Well, what do you wanna do with them? Don’t mean to be abrupt, but as cute as these little buggers are, we do need to get back to work.”
He nodded toward the tarped stacks of new lumber. “This house ain’t building itself. And winter’s only a couple months away.”
Debbie stepped in. “I don’t think that is a matter of question. We’re keeping the cats.”
Bob’s jaw gaped open. “What?”
“You heard me.” She looked directly at DeShawn Hill. “I don’t want to know what alternative plans you had for these itty bitty bundles of joy. But we’re keeping these kittens.”
Bob didn’t hesitate. “No. No way.”
Debbie was walking toward the RV and looking over her shoulder. “Yes way, Bob. Our first day here, and we already have a family. Come on.”
Bob tried to protest. But the sound of their helpless mews resonated in his heart as if they’d found a crack they could crawl into, clutching tight with their teeny claws and not letting go. For a moment, Bob thought they were trying to manipulate him. He shook that thought off.
Impossible. I don’t like cats.
Once inside, Debbie set the box on the kitchen table. She smiled and laughed, her hands held together over her heart. The helpless mass of fur crawled back and forth across the bottom of the box, their eyes barely open. The stared up at Bob and Debbie and meowed, soft and innocent, yet demanding.
“Oh Bob, just look at them. They’re so adorable. What breed do you think they are?”
Bob peered in the box. “I don’t know. They’re a mix of colors with differing patterns and patches. I think they’re a bunch of mutts.”
“Admit it. You love
Debbie was ten steps ahead with Hill and Fronteria when she looked back. “Bob,” she shouted. “Are you okay? Stay with us.”
“Shhhh. I hear the kittens again.”
Debbie cupped her hand to her ear. “What?”
Bob ran to Debbie and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I said I hear those kittens crying out again.”
Debbie’s eyes rolled a one-eighty. “Bob, there are no cats here.”
“Maybe feral cats,” Hill yelled.
The meowing grew more intense. They tugged on his heart to help them. He discerned thirteen individual meows among the cacophony of crying kittens.
“Yes, there are cats.” Bob said forcefully. “I can hear their unmistakable mews.”
Hill pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew. His crew and the loud noise they made stopped. He held up his arm and motioned. “Everyone, take five. I need you to be quiet for a minute.”
“What’s going on,” a crew member asked.
“I want you all to listen for the sound of kittens.”
A strange silence fell as the crew looked bewildered at the boss, then around at each other.
DeShawn Hill’s eyes widened and he made a little huff sound. “I hear it too. The sound of little kittens meowing.”
“So do I,” Debbie said. “Honey, you’re not losing your mind, like Grandma said.”
Bob knew Debbie let that slip out. “I can assure you, I’m in a perfectly sound state of mind.”
One of the workers with a shovel and wheel barrel bent over a pile of burned timber on the main foundation. “Hey boss, there are some little kittens here in the rubble.”
Within seconds, everyone crowded around the mound of weather rotted, mismatched planks and boards and began pulling out tiny pussycats.
“Thirteen,” a hired hand said. “There’s thirteen of ‘em.” He held one up, cradled in his upright palm. “These’s sure some cute li’l rascals.”
DeShawn Hill’s big burley crew cuddled the tiny multi-colored cats. They ooh’d and ah’d over them. The kittens looked like helpless wee puffs of fur in their large hands. Bob and Debbie joined the crowd along with Hill and Fronteria.
One of the workers went to his truck and returned with a cardboard box and clean rags lining the bottom. “Put the li’l fuzz balls in here.”
Hill turned to Bob. “Well, what do you wanna do with them? Don’t mean to be abrupt, but as cute as these little buggers are, we do need to get back to work.”
He nodded toward the tarped stacks of new lumber. “This house ain’t building itself. And winter’s only a couple months away.”
Debbie stepped in. “I don’t think that is a matter of question. We’re keeping the cats.”
Bob’s jaw gaped open. “What?”
“You heard me.” She looked directly at DeShawn Hill. “I don’t want to know what alternative plans you had for these itty bitty bundles of joy. But we’re keeping these kittens.”
Bob didn’t hesitate. “No. No way.”
Debbie was walking toward the RV and looking over her shoulder. “Yes way, Bob. Our first day here, and we already have a family. Come on.”
Bob tried to protest. But the sound of their helpless mews resonated in his heart as if they’d found a crack they could crawl into, clutching tight with their teeny claws and not letting go. For a moment, Bob thought they were trying to manipulate him. He shook that thought off.
Impossible. I don’t like cats.
Once inside, Debbie set the box on the kitchen table. She smiled and laughed, her hands held together over her heart. The helpless mass of fur crawled back and forth across the bottom of the box, their eyes barely open. The stared up at Bob and Debbie and meowed, soft and innocent, yet demanding.
“Oh Bob, just look at them. They’re so adorable. What breed do you think they are?”
Bob peered in the box. “I don’t know. They’re a mix of colors with differing patterns and patches. I think they’re a bunch of mutts.”
“Admit it. You love
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