Short Story: Boiling Kittens
© 2015 C. Henry Martens
Image courtesy of graur razvan ionut and Boykung at freedigitalphotos.net
As courtrooms went, this one was larger than most. The trial had garnered a lot of press, more than had been expected as the issue went viral. So as the spectators started to line up for seats, the Honorable J. T. Sawyer, duly elected judge of the County of Stanley, had changed the venue to accommodate as many as possible.
In front of the jury box and in full view of the seated spectators, on a low table, the demonstration that Millicent Sandy, lawyer for the plaintiff, had devised was waiting to be implemented.
Four clear, tall beakers stood on portable heating elements, spaced evenly across the surface. Each was filled with a measured gallon of water, fully visible ten inches down from the top rim of the glass. Four mesh baskets with long handles, clearly designed to fit inside the beakers, stood to one side of each. The heat source cords had been taped together so the tangle wouldn’t distract from the demonstration and led to a single surge arrestor, plugged into a floor outlet installed during construction for just such a purpose.
Uncomfortable with her strategy, Millie was busy having second thoughts. She tried to avoid eye contact with her co-counsel, Nicholas Stratford, newly anointed into the practice of law and horrified as well by the prospect of what they were about to do.
A witness for the defense had just been grilled for the first hour and sat fully prepared to counter any questions posed by the plaintiff’s legal team. Richard Flynn wore a smug expression, an indication of his regard for the competence of those opposing his firm’s highly paid and highly regarded counsel.
Getting up and moving to the front of the jury box, trying to keep her voice from trembling, Millie engaged the twelve citizens selected to make a decision in the fate of her employer. Thinking of this, her resolve hardened. Whichever way it went, the point would be driven home in a way that she expected would illustrate to the jury the real consequences of the issue. Her intent was to make the defense responsible for the outcome, which of course was not only the point, but the truth in fact.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will note the table before you,” Millie began, “and the four containers containing liquid heated to various temperatures. Please note that each has a visible thermometer that reads what the temperature of each container is as well as the contents within.”
All eyes were riveted on the equipment as intended. In an otherwise boring trial that had been filled with interminable questioning and bickering over minute details, the jury was interested in seeing something different.
“Mister Flynn, you have had a chance to inspect the demonstration and verify the accuracy of the temperatures.” asked counsel for the plaintiff. “Is this true?”
Richard Flynn nodded, barely noticeable to those watching. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’ll remind you, Mister Flynn,” Judge Sawyer projected his deep bass across the courtroom, “that all answers must be verbal. And please speak up so the entire court can hear.”
Not used to being chastised, Richard sulked in his chair, but verbalized his response in the affirmative.
Millie hesitated and moved slowly to a position adjacent her chair. There was no going back now. She reached below and took a grip on the handle of the container beneath. It was light, a covered bird cage with barely anything to weigh it down. But that “barely” was what would make her case. She was confident the jury would understand the correlation to the facts of the case, the injuries involved, the danger and responsibilities that were being foisted off as though they did not matter.
She placed the cage on top of her counsel table and removed the hood that had kept the contents obscured.
There was an audible intake of breath from every corner of the courtroom.
Four kittens lay sleeping, lightly sedated, in the bottom of the cage. They appeared to be identical, obviously litter mates, and about six weeks old.
Opening the cage door and reaching inside, Millie removed one. She nuzzled it carefully as she cupped it beneath her chin and against her neck. It was warm, soft, and Millie could feel the kitten’s heart pulsing lightly within her grasp.
There was a crucial point to be made.
“Mister Flynn, your prior testimony has been that coffee can be served safely at a temperature of one-hundred and eighty degrees to a seventy-nine year old woman in a moving car. Because of this, you have maintained that your company holds no liability once the coffee passes through the window, even not knowing what the circumstances are where you are supplying one-hundred-eighty degree coffee.”
Millie turned to the jury, engaging their eyes in studied nonchalance.
“You, and the jury, will note that all of the containers positioned on the table are lower in increments of twenty degrees than your stated safe temperature. That means the lowest temperature of liquid on the table is one hundred degrees, and the highest is one hundred and sixty degrees. Please indicate the highest temperature at which you wish to demonstrate that the kitten is safe if submerged for one second, and we will begin.”
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Image courtesy of graur razvan ionut and Boykung at freedigitalphotos.netAs courtrooms went, this one was larger than most. The trial had garnered a lot of press, more than had been expected as the issue went viral. So as the spectators started to line up for seats, the Honorable J. T. Sawyer, duly elected judge of the County of Stanley, had changed the venue to accommodate as many as possible.
In front of the jury box and in full view of the seated spectators, on a low table, the demonstration that Millicent Sandy, lawyer for the plaintiff, had devised was waiting to be implemented.
Four clear, tall beakers stood on portable heating elements, spaced evenly across the surface. Each was filled with a measured gallon of water, fully visible ten inches down from the top rim of the glass. Four mesh baskets with long handles, clearly designed to fit inside the beakers, stood to one side of each. The heat source cords had been taped together so the tangle wouldn’t distract from the demonstration and led to a single surge arrestor, plugged into a floor outlet installed during construction for just such a purpose.
Uncomfortable with her strategy, Millie was busy having second thoughts. She tried to avoid eye contact with her co-counsel, Nicholas Stratford, newly anointed into the practice of law and horrified as well by the prospect of what they were about to do.
A witness for the defense had just been grilled for the first hour and sat fully prepared to counter any questions posed by the plaintiff’s legal team. Richard Flynn wore a smug expression, an indication of his regard for the competence of those opposing his firm’s highly paid and highly regarded counsel.
Getting up and moving to the front of the jury box, trying to keep her voice from trembling, Millie engaged the twelve citizens selected to make a decision in the fate of her employer. Thinking of this, her resolve hardened. Whichever way it went, the point would be driven home in a way that she expected would illustrate to the jury the real consequences of the issue. Her intent was to make the defense responsible for the outcome, which of course was not only the point, but the truth in fact.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will note the table before you,” Millie began, “and the four containers containing liquid heated to various temperatures. Please note that each has a visible thermometer that reads what the temperature of each container is as well as the contents within.”
All eyes were riveted on the equipment as intended. In an otherwise boring trial that had been filled with interminable questioning and bickering over minute details, the jury was interested in seeing something different.
“Mister Flynn, you have had a chance to inspect the demonstration and verify the accuracy of the temperatures.” asked counsel for the plaintiff. “Is this true?”
Richard Flynn nodded, barely noticeable to those watching. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’ll remind you, Mister Flynn,” Judge Sawyer projected his deep bass across the courtroom, “that all answers must be verbal. And please speak up so the entire court can hear.”
Not used to being chastised, Richard sulked in his chair, but verbalized his response in the affirmative.
Millie hesitated and moved slowly to a position adjacent her chair. There was no going back now. She reached below and took a grip on the handle of the container beneath. It was light, a covered bird cage with barely anything to weigh it down. But that “barely” was what would make her case. She was confident the jury would understand the correlation to the facts of the case, the injuries involved, the danger and responsibilities that were being foisted off as though they did not matter.
She placed the cage on top of her counsel table and removed the hood that had kept the contents obscured.
There was an audible intake of breath from every corner of the courtroom.
Four kittens lay sleeping, lightly sedated, in the bottom of the cage. They appeared to be identical, obviously litter mates, and about six weeks old.
Opening the cage door and reaching inside, Millie removed one. She nuzzled it carefully as she cupped it beneath her chin and against her neck. It was warm, soft, and Millie could feel the kitten’s heart pulsing lightly within her grasp.
There was a crucial point to be made.
“Mister Flynn, your prior testimony has been that coffee can be served safely at a temperature of one-hundred and eighty degrees to a seventy-nine year old woman in a moving car. Because of this, you have maintained that your company holds no liability once the coffee passes through the window, even not knowing what the circumstances are where you are supplying one-hundred-eighty degree coffee.”
Millie turned to the jury, engaging their eyes in studied nonchalance.
“You, and the jury, will note that all of the containers positioned on the table are lower in increments of twenty degrees than your stated safe temperature. That means the lowest temperature of liquid on the table is one hundred degrees, and the highest is one hundred and sixty degrees. Please indicate the highest temperature at which you wish to demonstrate that the kitten is safe if submerged for one second, and we will begin.”
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www.readmota.com
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