Something wrapped in the blue knitted blanket my mother had made when Michael was born.
He had something bundled against his chest with one arm.
And with his other hand, my husband was digging a hole.
“Greg?”
He jerked around so fast that dirt flew from the little garden shovel.
“Laura!”
I threw open the back door.
“What are you doing?”
“Stop shouting!”
“Why are you digging a hole at two in the morning?”
And with his other hand, my husband was digging a hole.
The bundle against his chest moved.
I stopped.
Greg tightened his arm around it.
“You’re scaring her.”
“Her?”
He pulled back one corner of Michael’s blanket.
A tiny gray face appeared.
Two furious little eyes stared at me.
The bundle against his chest moved.
I just stood there.
“What is that?”
Greg blinked.
“A kitten.”
“I can see it’s a kitten!”
The kitten squeaked.
