Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

I peered into the road and saw nothing to raise suspicion. And maybe, at that point, I should’ve just gone back to sleep, but something told me not to, the same something that said to go outside and make sure it was in fact nothing. I opened the door and stepped out onto the steps I was convinced were going to snap under my weight one of these days. The night was cold. Snow was beginning to fall. Little flecks of white drifted through the sky, landing in my hair and on my bare shoulders. Fuck, it’s freezing out here. I rubbed my arms vigorously with my palms as I swept my gaze over the small area in front of my house, and then they landed on the toppled-over metal garbage can. I sighed and rolled my eyes, feeling like an idiot for being so spooked by something so stupid, and I went to pick it up when a sound—much smaller and quieter than the crash before—came from beneath my rotten steps. I turned on my heel to find my eyes meeting the yellow gaze of a tiny gray kitten. “Hey,” I said softly, kneeling and extending a hand. “Come here, little guy.” I’d never had a cat before, but I knew they were selective in who they would trust. But this kitten seemed to have a good feeling about me because he came right to me without hesitation—or maybe he was just cold. His little nose bumped against my fingers, as if he were saying, Hello, before running his scrawny back beneath my hand. “Where’s your mom, huh?” I asked, knowing he’d never answer. Except he did. He mewed with anguish, a...