Robby, walking home from work in the rain one night, is in his own head when he hears pathetic mews from behind a dumpster. It doesn't matter that he's exhausted and weary. It doesn't matter that his feet hurt. A living being is in distress and Robby cannot, ever, allow that to continue if he can help.
The dumpster stinks. It's summer and the days are the type of hot and humid that leave you sticky and panting that even when it rains, it's not quite enough to cool things off. As he nears it, the stench rises around him: the culmination of hours rotting in the heat.
Dropping to his knees, his palms braced against the cracked and crumbling cement, Robby bends until he can see under the dumpster. There, scrunched up and shivering, is a skinny tortie cat. Robby raises one hand and runs two fingers together.
Maybe she's just given up. Maybe she knows she can trust him.
Or maybe the cat distribution system knows what it's doing because the kitty crawls out---hesitant at first---and allows Robby to lift her and slide her into the warmth of his zipup.
A few blocks over is an emergency vet. That's his first stop. His second is the all night megamart several blocks away from his and Jack's home.
In the morning, he calls out of work for the first time in years.
And Jack comes home to a freshly bathed kitty sleeping on Robby's chest...and a house full of new cat toys and furniture, most still in boxes that he will happily put together.
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