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It all started with a jar of turmeric.
According to Kalim’s rapidfire rambling, the Ramshackle Dormitory got saddled with a litter of flea-ridden orphaned kittens. Since the Prefect had exceeded their monthly allowance to buy milk, they asked him for some help.
Of course they would take advantage of the dorm leader’s bleeding heart. At least Jamil was quick enough to stop him from donating the entire jar.
When Kalim returned, he gushed nonstop. There were five of the wriggly things. With folded ears and shut eyes, and impressively loud despite being palm-sized.
“—you should’ve seen how they all turned yellow, especially the black and white one! It looked like an oversized bee—”
“Tell me if you get bitten. We can’t have fleas infesting the dorm.” Jamil held back a shudder at the thought. He’ll need to add some citronella oil for Kalim’s evening bath and throw his clothes into the wash immediately after this. He couldn’t take any chances.
“Okay, Jamil—By the way, would you wanna visit them tomorrow after classes?”
Oh dear.
First, came the innocuous requests to check up on the things. Then the musing and the daydreaming. And then, of course, he’d feel compelled to adopt one. Or all five of them.
Jamil needed to nip this in the bud. “Sure.” (Who was he kidding, it was too late. Kalim was utterly entranced with the things. And Jamil would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.)
The two of them stayed at Ramshackle until night had fallen. Kalim struggled to get the fifth kitten to latch onto the bottle. His brow was furrowed, lips pursed in concentration as the neonate mewed and wailed in one of his palms. With the bottle tilted downwards in his other hand, milk trickled down his wrist and onto the floor. “Come on, don’t be so fussy, your dinner’s right here…”
Jamil easily could’ve wiped up that mess, but he was stuck as a makeshift pillow for the remaining four. A plump, purring puddle of black, white, and orange on his lap. He idly stroked the top of the kitten’s head, one of the white kittens with splotches of orange tabby markings.
After some agonizing moments of watching Kalim muttering to the thing, the kitten miraculously found the bottletip. Its front paws curled around the bottle while he cradled it in his palm.
It was a frail, tiny thing.
“Hey Jamil, remember when Aunt Farah would bring over her cats?”
He nodded. “They were actually older than this.” They were beautiful Persian cats. A mellow cloud and her hyperactive cotton ball offsprings. Alongside one of the older servants, he was lightly chiding Kalim to be gentle, to not get overexcited.
Kalim’s aunt was the type of relative who brought lavish gifts for everyone. Whenever she visited, she’d have an array of bags hanging from both of her arms. She made sure that everyone in the room would receive something—snacks, toys, clothes, a quirky trinket, or a hand-me-down from her own children—a textbook example of a perfect guest. Greatly favored by family and the servants during reunions, and especially by Kalim and his siblings.
(While Kalim and Jamil watched the kittens tear across the ornate rugs and bump into furniture, the aunt went on about the circle of cat breeders she purchased the parents from. Their pedigree, their decorated history as show cats.)
“I can’t wait to see them open their eyes…” Kalim mused. Grim grumbled from his spot on the sofa.
“Feeling neglected, are we?” Jamil found solace in teasing Grim.
“No! They keep cryin’ through the night, ever since we’ve taken ’em in!” A part of him sympathized with the fatigue that shadowed Grim’s features. “You could find someone to—”
The runt’s high-pitched crying resumed with renewed vigor and thrashing, surprising Kalim. The bottle fumbled in his hold. “Oh no! What’s wrong?”
“It’s still hungry,” Jamil said. He started scooping up the kittens and placing them next to Grim, who had his paws pressed over his ears.
“But it’s not taking the bottle…” Kalim set the kitten down, its little head nudged against his palm in between meows. “Did the milk already go cold?”
“Kalim, wait, I’ll come to you—”
At that moment, Yuu returned from cleaning up the kitchen. With a practiced motion, they set the kitten on its stomach and it quickly took the bottle with no further complaint.
“Is it easier for them to drink like that?” Kalim asked.
Yuu explained that it was the most natural position for them, that holding them like a baby risked the kitten inhaling milk into its lungs.
“Oh.” Kalim’s omnipresent smile faded. “I…didn’t know that.”
Jamil’s reflex to placate kicked in. “We were only children when your aunt visited…”
Neither of them could know any better.
(Well, even as kids, they could sense that Aunt Farah’s love was hollow for her pets. As if these living beings were like the luxury brands that decorated her walk-in closets, like mere seasonal trends.)
Kalim’s gaze was glued to the runt, watching it drink barely a quarter of the milk.
“That–That’s not enough…” He turned to the Prefect. “Can’t you make it drink some more, at least until half the bottle’s finished?”
He had a way of making big pleas sound like simple requests.
“They’ll be due for another feeding later,” Jamil said, scanning Kalim’s hands for scratches. Only faint lines, but his palm was sticky from spilled milk.
Yuu sighed tiredly in agreement. Not quite defeated, but as if they were bracing for the worst.
“Jamil and I could help you look for vets. No need to worry about shouldering the cost—”
Yuu interrupted Kalim. The both of them were already plenty of help today. At the very least, this kitten needed more care and attention than the rest.
That was their cue to leave. “It’s almost curfew,” Jamil said. “We can visit another time.”
After they washed up, Kalim bid the Ramshackle duo goodbye with a strained smile.
(The servants back at the estate were quick to hide any animal deaths from the young heir. Any sick animals were put to sleep or taken away to keep him from seeing their suffering.)
The walk back to Scarabia was far from silent. Kalim buzzed with suggestions to help Grim and the Prefect. Which were good ideas, if it weren’t for the fact that—
“You can’t give them round-the-clock care while juggling your school responsibilities.”
Kalim stopped in his tracks. “Am I supposed to just…accept that they might…?”
Yes. For his own sake. Jamil thought. “The Prefect had it under control. We shouldn’t overstep.”
“Man, I don’t know much about taking care of baby animals but…” Kalim made a short, frustrated sound. His hand scratched at the back of his head, bracelets clinking with the motion. “I just—it doesn’t feel fair. We can get them treatment, medicine, anything they’ll need but Yuu wouldn’t…!”
Calm and rational, Jamil could embody that. “In the worst case scenario, Yuu doesn’t want to prolong its suffering.”
“How can you just accept that, Jamil?”
He didn’t want to. Their lives were already filled with close brushes to death. Jamil couldn’t open any more room in his heart for another defenseless creature. The most he could do was to not get attached in the first place, to box up the sadness and pain, to keep it tucked away in the furthest corner of his mind.
Kalim continued as Jamil stayed silent, “remember when Aunt Farah started collecting Bengals afterwards? I pretended to be okay when she mentioned the…accidents.” He almost looked haunted at the memory, voice wavering as he spoke. “But I keep thinking of her old cats, and I wonder if things would’ve been different if we adopted them…”
A part of Jamil expected himself to feel angry at being expected to play caretaker again. Then he remembered how they were both subjected to the constant threats against rabies, tetanus, ringworm. Like neither of them were trusted to fully care for a pet.
“Wouldn’t it be better to still try?”
But watching Kalim clumsily bottlefeed the scrawny kitten was almost enough to drown out the warnings that were instilled in them. Maybe it was a good thing that Kalim’s bleeding heart persisted, that he steadfastly clung to kindness in a world of jaded and apathetic adults.
“...You have a point. But we might have more luck searching for someone to foster them.”
At Jamil’s reply, Kalim’s face brightened up. “Then…!”
“Not us!”
“Aww…” In spite of his pout, he looked happier once they reached the mirror to Scarabia.
For once in his life, Jamil couldn’t muster any further protest in following Kalim’s whims. He did have a way of making idealism seem infectious and simple.