What? Lucy answers, her voice flat.
How can you say what? What am I supposed to do?
At least get out of the car and check if its still alive.
I bite my lower lip. The courtyard is empty, the night air smells of burnt metala scent that feels like fear. I slowly unlock the door and, without stepping out, lean forward to peer under the vehicle. I see it: a small grey bundle, trembling, its eyes open.
Its alive, Lucy. Its alive What now?
What now? Take it to the vet. You were heading there anyway. Hurry!
I lift the cat gentlyit doesnt fight, just lies there, breathing shallowly. I place it on the back seat, inside a cardboard box thats been sitting on the floor. Then I drive off.
The clinic is about half an hour away, normally. Not today. Today that halfhour stretches into an eternity.
In the boot, a dog is already curled up. An old mixed breed, hit by a train. My neighbours had asked me to bring it inEuthanise it kindly, dont let it suffer, theyd said. It was a stray, nobody really wanted it, but we felt sorry for it. Im already in the car, almost on autopilot.
And now this cat, too.
I speed down the road like a man possessed, the thought looping in my head:
What a day this is. What a life this is.
At the veterinary practice, theres no queue, to my surprise. I storm in with the box as if I were rushing my wife into labour. The vet snatches it and carries it to the examination room.
Whats wrong with it? Hows it doing? I ask, hovering at the door.
Well do an Xray right away the assistant replies. It looks like nothing serious, but we need to check.
Fifteen minutes pass. An eternity. The clock on the wall seems to have stopped playing tricks on me. I pace, stare at the ceiling, the windows, the posters of British Shorthair cats
Inside, something churns. Not just worryshame, guilt. I didnt notice the cat in time. I shouldnt have driven so fast. Everything could have gone another way. The tiny, helpless animal had just stepped onto the road a second too late, and I was thinking about where the clinics side entrance was. One moment, a splitsecond decision, and now Im standing here, throat tight, pleading silently: Please, let it live. Let me fix this.
Finally the vet emerges.
We need to operate
And then I rememberthe dog is still in the boot!
I race back. The boot is silent. No whimper, no movement. I press the release button and the lid opens slowly.
Two terrified eyes stare at me from the darkness. Its alive.
Hey I whisper. Im sorry well see what we can do.
I dash back to the clinic, grabbing the veta stern, nononsense woman.
Theres another dog in the boot. Hit by a train, its hind legs
Theyve already called us to euthanise it They said theres no chance.
I freeze, words stuck. Her face stays expressionless. She simply lifts her coat, grabs a jacket, and follows me.
We open the boot together. She looks at the dog, then at me, her eyes cutting through me like an Xray.
Are you mad? Who told you it has to be put down? Yes, its legs wont heal. But it can live. Weve rescued animals in worse shape. Bring it in.
I nod. I dont argue. The vet says, It will survive. Thats enough.
Evening finds me stumbling back home. Lucy turns from the range cooker, startled.
Whats wrong with you, Harriet?
Without a word I go to the bedroom, pull out an old ledger where I used to hide cash. A dream, a motorbike, it all feels irrelevant now.
Harriet?! Whats happening?
Theyll live! I shout. Both of them!
Who? Have you lost it?
Ill explain later!
We keep them. The cat becomes Molly, the dog Raja. We get through everything together: IV drips, sleepless nights, physiotherapy.
Lucy finally says,
If theyre staying with us, well make it work.
And we do. I feed Molly, bandage Raja. We cry when Molly takes her first steps. We laugh when Raja, now in a little wheelchair, zooms around the garden.
Five years have passed. Theyre no longer just pets. Theyre family.
Today, when I step inside, the smell of fresh biscuits greets me. Lucy wraps me in a tight hug from behind, and she starts to tremble.
Whats happening? I ask.
Were going to be rich she whispers, hand over her stomach.
At first I dont get it. Then I understand.
Im forty. Shes thirtyseven. Weve tried for years, almost giving up. Then a peculiar woman once told us,
Youll have three children. Two gifts from nature. One a blessing from God. Patience, love, the road will be hard but bright.
Molly, curled up beside a plush rabbit on the windowsill, sleeps soundly. Raja, now old, nudges us, leans against my leg, and lets out a long sigh.
I never believed it then. NowI believe. Because once we said yes to life, life said yes back.
