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The late October sun was sinking behind the familiar framework of the Valdebebas training ground when Arda stepped out into the fresh evening air. His thighs and feet ached with the usual fatigue a Real Madrid training session elicited in his body. It was just before six o’ clock. A time Arda usually spent pondering dinner and a good show to watch. He was half-way to his usual taxi spot, adjusting a stray lock of hair with a mindless gesture when the sound tore through the suspiciously empty highway.
A vicious snarling. A wet crunch. A memory of aggressive stray dogs back in Ankara. He paused, his overworked body tightening. It wasn’t the barking that caught his attention. It was a harrowing wail that sounded faintly human. Like a young child crying out through a throat choked with panic.
Adrenaline flooded his veins, transforming his quiet caution into a driving impulse. He didn’t even think. He just ran toward the noise, his shoes slapping way too loudly against the pavement. The scene snapped into focus, sending a spike of sympathetic agony through Arda’s spine. A large, mangy stray dog with visible ribs was looming over a patch of flattened weeds. Beneath its jaws lay a calico cat, its fur matted with something that dangerously resembled blood. Just half a meter away, tucked against a concrete barrier was a tiny, motionless ball of fur.
The air in Arda’s lungs suddenly felt too thin. He had to help the cat. The dog snapped its jaw, a low growl vibrating in the air. Arda’s hands began shaking as he dropped down and scrambled for a weapon. His fingers closed around a heavy, jagged rock, before he stood tall again, trying to look as intimidating as he could. He raised the rock, lunging forward with a desperate roar.
‘No! Go away!’
The dog flinched, its ears flattening, but it stood its ground. Arda’s heart began hammering against his ribs. He did not think this through, but it was too late to back down now. He faked another heavy throw, his voice cracking with the next shout.
‘Get away! Scram!’
The stray shrank back a few centimeters, baring its teeth and letting out a defensive bark.
With a final burst of energy, Arda raised the rock higher, stomping his foot harshly against the gravel, and screamed with every bit of energy he had left.
‘Get out of here!’
The unhinged volume that felt so alien to Arda’s throat finally broke the dog’s nerve. The stray turned, kicking up dust, and fled into the shadows of the outer fields with a whimper.
Silence rushed back in. Arda dropped the rock, his knees hitting the dirt beside the cat. One look at the glassy, unblinking stare and the unnatural angle of its neck told him everything. The cat was gone. Arda had been too slow. A heavy remorse sank in his chest, suffocating him. He assumed the tiny kitten beside was her cub. An even younger life brutally cut short.
Then another sound realigned Arda’s thoughts. A microscopic, reedy, desperate mew. Relief made Arda’s head spin. He shifted in an instant, reaching out with a trembling hand to check the baby for bites. But the moment he was close enough, the furry, teacup-sized creature reared back on its hind legs. With its eyes barely open and the fiercest little hiss it could manage, it swatted at him, its tiny claws grazing Arda’s index finger.
The scratch was entirely superficial, not even drawing blood, but the sheer defiance in the little kitten made Arda feel like a proud father.
‘Hey, hey, it’s okay,’ Arda cooed softly. He leaned in closer, eyes widening as he traced the kitten’s miniscule frame. He carefully scanned the mottled fur of its back, its face, and its kneading paws. No signs of blood. No obvious punctures.
Arda sighed in relief. The kitten was safe. The kitten was safe? How was the kitten safe without its mother?
Reality crashed over him. This was a tiny kitten on the outskirts of Madrid without a mother. It had no chance to survive. Arda knew he needed to do something, but he was completely out of his depth. Without a second thought, he yanked his phone from his pants’ pocket and dialed Dean. The line rang twice before Dean’s voice came through.
‘Hey! All done? Are you coming home?’ Dean’s voice was bright and cut right through Arda’s rising panic.
‘I need help,’ Arda blurted in English, the words rushing out of him in a breathless torrent like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
On the other end, the casual warmth instantly evaporated. A sharp intake of breath rustled through the speaker. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?’
‘No, no. I’m fine,’ Arda yelped, before realizing shouting might startle the kitten even more. ‘I found a kitten. He’s so small. I don’t know what to do, but he’s too small and I can’t leave him alone,’ he forced himself to whisper, unaware of the fact that he started mingling Spanish and English together.
There was a brief pause as Dean tried to process the frantic shift in language. ‘A… a kitten? What? Where are you?’
‘Near Campo 10. The mother is dead. A dog killed her. He’s all alone and he won’t survive here. I can’t just leave him here. He’s going to die alone, and I won’t let that happen.’ The words tumbled out of Arda with little inflection and almost fusing together. Completely devoid of his usually calm tone and cadence.
Dean’s voice returned, considerably more grounded. ‘Okay. Listen to me. If the mother is dead, you need to call 112, so that the Ayuntamiento can collect the body. But first, look around. Are there any other kittens?’
Arda stood up on shaky legs, turning in a slow circle. He squinted into the autumn twilight, his eyes scanning the weeds, the concrete barriers, and the trash receptacles. Everything looked empty and decisively not furry.
‘No. No, I don’t see anyone else. It’s just him. Can I get into a taxi with him, or do the drivers not allow animals?’ Arda sounded as if he were giving a report to an army official.
‘Taxi? Why?’
‘To get him to a vet!’ Arda whined impatiently.
‘Don’t get in a taxi,’ Dean instructed him firmly, the sound of keys jiggling audible in the background. ‘Stay right there, and call 112 for the mother. Then keep the kitten warm. You have a jacket, right?’
Arda nodded before realizing he was speaking on the phone. ‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ Dean continued. ‘Wrap the kitten in the jacket. Keep it close to you to keep it warm. And wait for me. I’m coming to get you.’ The unmistakable mechanical rumble of the ignition roaring to life reached Ada through the speaker.
Arda blinked. Dean wasn’t able to come to Valdebebas today since he was recovering from a stomach bug. Having him out and about wasn’t a good idea, especially since this morning he kept having pain that made him wince every time he drank water.
‘But your stomach…’
‘I’ll be there,’ Dean’s voice was resolute. He hung up.
Arda inhaled, and shoved his phone back in his pocket like it was a dangerous weapon. He stared down at the shivering kitten. His ears were pinned flat, and his tiny chest was heaving with every shallow breath. Arda knelt back down in the dirt, and began to unzip his jacket with unnatural slowness so as to not further scare the poor thing.
‘Hey, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay,’ Arda forced his voice to drop into a melodic hum. He gathered the fabric of the jacket in his hands, gently lowering his makeshift nest toward the shivering little creature. ‘If you were a big boy, I’d get you a piece of tuna. And then we’d become friends. But you’re too small for that, aren’t you? Way too small.’
The second the jacket’s shadow fell over the kitten, he reared back again. A tiny paw swatted upward, the claws catching faintly in the polyester lining with a soft snag.
Arda flinched very subtly. He kept his muscles locked and tried not to make any sudden movements and add to the kitten’s distress.
‘You’re so fierce, aren’t you?’ Arda continued speaking just as gently. ‘I know you’re terrified, but I promise you, I won’t harm you. I just want to keep you warm.’
Another swat. But this time, the kitten’s balance wavered. His hind legs gave out slightly, slipping on the loose gravel. He was getting tired, his fragile reserves of adrenaline burning out far too quickly. Arda moved his hands again, centimeter by centimeter, desperate to save that pocket-sized pulse of life.
‘There’s someone coming,’ Arda promised. ‘His name is Dean. I trust him with everything, and I know he’s going to help us. You just have to let us, okay?’
This time, when the jacket closed around the kitten, there was no fight left. The fabric enveloped the miniscule body, and Arda carefully gathered the bundle up into his arms. He stood up straight, pulling the jacket tight against his chest, trying to offer himself as a furnace. The movement shattered the kitten’s remaining courage. From inside the folds of the cloth, a piercing wail erupted. A broken sound that seemed far too loud for such an underdeveloped throat.
The sound served to tighten Arda’s own throat out of raw, bleeding sympathy. ‘Shh, shh, it’s okay,’ he shushed desperately, swaying his upper body in a slow, rhythmic rock. ‘Please don’t cry. Momma can’t help you, but I got you. Please don’t cry.’
Gradually, the sharp mews began to taper off into an intermittent whimper. Holding the bundle securely with his left arm, he fumbled for his phone. He dialed 112, just like Dean had told him to do. The ring tone sounded far too clinical in that particular moment.
‘Emergency services, how might I help you?’ The operator’s voice was monotone and quite hastily spoken. Something Arda didn’t really feel prepared to deal with right now.
‘Uhh, yes, hi. I want… I want to report a dead body,’ he began, his accent growing thicker and thicker as the little mews sent a fresh surge of panic through Arda’s marrow. ‘An animal body!’ he added immediately. ‘A cat.’
‘Understood. Where exactly?’
‘Avenida de Alejandro de la Sota. Between Campo 10 and Estadio Alfredo Di Stéfano,’ Arda explained, his words coming out in short, uncoordinated bursts. ‘A dog… There was a dog that killed it. It’s not here now.’
‘Understood. Is there any danger to traffic or pedestrians?’
‘No. She’s… on the ground.’ Arda cleared his throat, tightening his grip on the crying bundle in his arms. ‘I have… I have a kitten as well. Very small. I can take care of him.’
‘Very well. We’ve noted your location for municipal waste collection. Do you require medical or police assistance?’
‘No, no. But… do I have to stay here? To wait for someone?’ Arda inquired, now dreading to be stuck with a crying kitten in the middle of the road.
‘No, sir, you don't need to stay. We've already registered your report. City Hall services will take care of it. Thank you for calling.’
‘Thank you,’ Arda breathed, terminating the call with a shaky finger.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, now fully able to focus on the pocket-sized, not warm enough weight crying softly against his heart. His mind faintly registered that he himself was beginning to shiver ever so slightly in the cool evening air. But luckily, twin beams of headlights cut through the distance and began sweeping across the concrete barriers. Dean’s BMW crawled to a smooth stop just in front of where Arda was standing. The passenger side door clicked and swung open from the inside.
Without a second’s hesitation, Arda stepped forward and climbed in, sheltering the jacket in his lap as the door clicked shut. The warm dashboard felt like a much-needed sanctuary, despite it not doing much to soothe Arda’s frayed nerves.
‘We need to find a vet,’ Arda said in place of a hello.
Dean looked at Arda for a brief second, taking in the manic edge that felt completely foreign compared to Arda’s usual quiet composure. He unfastened his seatbelt, and shifted in his seat, leaning across the center console toward Arda. His face was slightly pale, his features carrying the faint shadow of exhaustion from his stomach virus.
‘Let me see the kitten first,’ Dean pleaded quietly.
Arda hesitated as if he feared unbundling the kitten would somehow cause it irrepairable damage. But he knew Dean was right. Dean had to know what he was dealing with. With trembling fingers, Arda gently peeled the jacket. The sudden exposure to the cabin light triggered the kitten instantly. He let out a sharp, tired cry, his tiny body shivering violently to accompany the sound.
‘Hey, little one, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine,’ Dean whispered.
Dean extended a single index finger slowly, positioning it just centimeters away from the kitten’s dirt-smudged nose.
The kitten sniffed the air, his ears pinned flat, and attempted one final, defiant swat. But the miniature paw lacked any real strength now, merely brushing against Dean’s knuckles before dropping back down. He seemed entirely confused by the steady finger in front of him. Dean slid his finger past the kitten’s head, gently pressing it against the fur of his back.
Dean’s brow knitted, and he looked back up at Arda. ‘Its body’s really cold. It must be freezing. Before we go to a vet, we have to warm it back up. These clinics are usually cold as fuck.’
Arda nodded rapidly, trusting Dean to know better. ‘Okay. Okay. What do we do with him then?’
‘Put him inside your shirt. Right against your skin. Your body heat is the fastest way,’ Dean explained.
Arda didn’t care about the dirt, but he prayed the sharp little claws would stay put. He pulled the hem of his t-shirt up with one hand, using the other to carefully guide the shivering ball of fur against his bare stomach. The kitten let out a muffled meow at the sudden transition. As the ambient heat of Arda’s skin enveloped him, he stopped fighting, and instead sank his weight against Arda.
Dean watched until the kitten was securely tucked away. Then he leaned over further, reaching across Arda’s torso. He grabbed the passenger seatbelt, clicking it into the buckle with a precise movement that avoided putting a shred of pressure on Arda's stomach.
‘He feels so weak. He must be starving,’ Arda moaned quietly, feeling the rapid, microscopic heartbeat against his own flesh.
‘We’re going to take care of that. There has to be a Kiwoko nearby,’ Dean said, shifting the car into drive. He checked the mirrors and smoothly pulled the car away without a single meow of protest from the kitten. ‘We have to get formula first.’
‘And then we’re taking him home,’ Arda demanded, the words burning out of him.
‘My home?’ Dean yelped.
‘Yes. We need to take care of him.’
Dean’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as he navigated the roundabout. A subtle hesitation clouded his expression. ‘Arda… I have Mía. We don’t know how she’ll react to a kitten. A shelter might be a better option for our little friend here.’
‘No!’ Arda yelped, inadvertently raising his voice and startling the kitten, who wailed faintly. A sound that only cemented Arda’s belief that handing the little life over to a cold institution was a mistake he would definitely regret. Dean’s dog couldn't have been the worst option. ‘Mía is very gentle. She’s good with kids. She’ll recognize he’s just a baby, and won’t harm him.’
‘We can’t risk his life on a guess, Arda,’ Dean countered softly, eyes scanning the street signs as he turned down a commercial avenue.
‘And we can’t risk his life with some shelter!’ Arda’s voice cracked, somewhere between a whisper and a groan. ‘What if they already have a hundred kittens? With us, he’ll have our full attention. We can take care of him.’
Dean fell silent. The rhythmic click of the turn signal echoed in the cabin as he slowed the car down. He bit his lower lip, his mind clearly weighing the harsh reality of the shelter system against Arda’s unyielding resolve and Mía’s inexperience with cats.
‘You’re right,’ Dean finally concluded with a heavy sigh. ‘We have to take him home.’
Arda grinned widely, his head spinning as a wave of gratitude washed over him. The little bundle against his skin still terrified him. There were so many things that could go wrong, despite Arda’s best intentions. But if Dean was willing to put his pain and nausea aside for a helpless animal, Arda would have to lock in too. He had Dean’s support and that gave him strength even through the hardest Real Madrid matches and challenges. It would have to suffice this time too.
Dean smoothly steered the car into a parking spot right in front of the Kiwoko pet store. He cut the engine, instantly unfastening his seatbelt. Before opening his door, Dean leaned across the console one more time. He pressed a quick, warm peck onto Arda’s lips.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Dean promised softly.
Arda managed a wide smile as Dean opened the door and stepped out, the shop’s automatic doors whining in the distance as he disappeared inside. Arda looked down at the small bulge beneath his shirt. He pressed his hand over the fabric, feeling the rhythmic breaths of the kitten slowing down as he was beginning to absorb the heat.
‘You hear that?’ Arda whispered tenderly. ‘We’re going to get you some food. You’re gonna be in good hands. And I promise, Mía is not a bad doggy. She’s just never lived with cats before. But she’ll learn. She’s smart.’
The minutes stretched out until the pet shop door opened again. Dean carried a plastic bag that was far larger than Arda had anticipated. There would have to be enough formula there to feed an entire litter. Dean opened the rear door first, placing the bulky load onto the back seat before he slid into the driver’s seat.
‘What’s all that?’ Arda inquired, glazing back.
‘I bought a carrier too,’ Dean answered, shifting the car back into gear. ‘I figured we might need one for the vet visit.’
Arda hummed in approval, unable to argue with that logic. They drove the remaining distance mostly in silence as the kitten seemed to have fallen asleep. Dean pulled up to the curb in the driveway, and killed the engine. He unfastened his own seatbelt, then reached across the console. With meticulous care, he clicked open Arda’s buckle, ensuring the strap didn’t snap back or jostle the tiny creature tucked against Arda’s belly. Dean then stepped out of the car, hurried around to the passenger side, and opened the door. He extended a firm hand, helping Arda guide his body out of the seat as smoothly as possible. Finally, Dean reached into the back to retrieve the large bag, clicked the fob to lock the car, and placed his hand on the small of Arda’s back as they approached the entrance door.
Arda tensed up the second Dean unlocked the door. Happy to see Dean back home, Mía erupted into a flurry of paws and thumping tail-wags accompanied by booming barks of welcome. But beneath Arda’s shirt, the kitten panicked. The tiny body began shivering again, scrambling upward with a frantic string of muffled mews.
‘Mía, no! Bad dog!’ Arda hissed as the small claws began scraping desperately against his skin.
Dean didn’t waste a second. He dropped the plastic bag onto the entryway floor and swooped down, scoping Mía up into his arms. A small wince crossed his features from bending over. Clearly his stomach still gave him pain.
‘Go to the bedroom,’ Dean instructed Arda. ‘I’ll lock her with some toys in the living room.’
Arda jogged down the hallway, and closed the bedroom door behind him with his heel. He sank onto the edge of the mattress, and began gently cradling the crying kitten. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay. Mía won’t hurt you.’
A few minutes later, the door clicked open. Dean walked in, carrying the oversized bag. ‘She’s calmed down, and I boiled some water. The instructions said we need warm water for the milk.’
‘Perfect. I think he’s starving,’ Arda murmured.
Dean sat the bag on the floor and pulled out a hard plastic pet carrier. He then opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a thick, plush fleece blanket. He bundled the fabric, lining the bottom and the sides of the carrier.
‘The clerk at Kiwoko said this is better for now,’ Dean explained, looking up at Arda. ‘The carrier should protect him from drafts and trap the heat inside. I wanted to get one of those heating blankets, but the guy said we could risk burning him, since most aren’t pet-friendly.’
Arda nodded. ‘Yeah, we should avoid that.’ He knelt onto the hardwood floor, and carefully pulled the hem on his shirt up. He reached in, gathered the dirt-streaked kitten into his palms, and lowered him into the fleece nest. As soon as his hands retreated, the kitten reared back, delivering the most aggressive hiss it could muster. But the sound hollow as if the poor thing was too exhausted to sustain the anger.
Arda sat himself more comfortably in a cross-legged position next to the plastic carrier door, while Dean stood up to turn up the room temperature. ‘This should be better.’
‘Do you think Mía’s barking made him defensive again?’ Arda pondered, a bit anxious that all their hard work to calm the kitten down had gone to waste.
‘I think he’s just overwhelmed,’ Dean said with a small shrug. ‘I think he might feel lost without his momma.’ He rested his hand on Arda’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. ‘Let him smell you so he can learn to recognize you. That’s what cats do. I’ll go check if the water has cooled down, and mix the formula.’
Left alone, Arda mirrored Dean’s earlier patience. He slowly slipped his index finger through the door of the carrier, stopping short of the kitten’s nose. He waited, his pulse racing. But the kitten didn’t sniff him. He just stared with wide, glassy eyes, wobbling softly. He looked entirely confused by both the finger and the strange fabric around him. Maybe he didn’t know how to sniff things yet? Maybe his momma never had the chance to teach him?
The door pushed open again, and Dean got onto the floor beside Arda. In his hand, he held a small plastic syringe, capped with a tiny rubber Arda could only assume was meant to mimic a nipple. The syringe was filled with milky fluid.
‘Here,’ Dean grabbed Arda’s hand, and held it under the syringe. He pressed the plunge just a bit. Just enough for a drop to come out, and drip on Arda’s wrist. ‘Does it burn?’
‘No.’
‘Then it should be safe for him. That’s what Google said at least,’ Dean explained with a wry smile.
Arda faintly remembered that being a test for human babies as well, so the logic might hold. He nodded, trusting Dean’s judgement. They both turned their attention back to the kitten.
‘The clerk gave me a tip,’ Dean continued, shifting to get closer to the carrier’s opening. ‘He said never to feed kittens straight on like you do human babies, or the milk can go into their lungs and they choke. We have to angle the syringe slightly from the side.’
What followed was a clumsy scramble. It was a process neither of them was remotely prepared for. Much more difficult than dribbling past defenders or scoring against Bayern Munich. The opening of the carrier was tight, and the blanket left very little room for error. Arda held the carrier steady, while Dean fumbled to find the right angle, trying to gently coax the small jaws open without hurting the kitten’s neck. The little warrior initially twisted away, hissing weakly against the tip.
‘Easy there, little guy. Easy,’ Dean cooed.
The soft voice seemed to have helped. Dean managed to slip the tip into the side of the kitten’s mouth and nudged the plunger. A bead of white formula appeared. The kitten’s pink tongue flicked out out of instinct. It tasted the warm liquid, and it began to suckle desperately. Arda sighed in relief, and watched as the tiniest bits of milk vanished down the kitten throat. Each gulp felt like a victory. But a cold wave of anxiety swept over him not long after.
‘Dean?’
‘Yes?’
‘How do we know he’s had enough to eat?’ Arda asked, voice shaky.
Dean didn’t look up, and remained focused on the steady pressure he applied to the plunger. ‘I used the kitchen scale to weigh ten grams. Just like the packaging said,’ he answered quite confidently.
‘No, but… think about it,’ Arda pressed on, worry creasing his forehead. ‘We don’t know how long he was out there. When was the last time his momma fed him before… Well, before.’ There was no need to be grim on the details. ‘What if he needs more than one syringe?’
Dean’s eyes widened, his composure fracturing and his shoulders tensing. ‘Can you look it up on Google?’ he pleaded. ‘How we can tell if a kitten has had enough to eat?’
Arda’s fingers found his phone in a heartbeat. He exhaled loudly as his fingers typed frantically. ‘Okay… okay. It says here that after a proper feeding, the kitten should appear pear-shaped, but not too bloated.’
‘What’s too bloated?’ Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion.
‘Uhm…’ Arda began typing again and scrolling furiously. ‘I can’t tell. Does this look AI-generated to you?’ He showed Dean an assortment of Google images that seemed too picture-perfect.
‘They…’ Dean hesitated. ‘That kitty looks kinda cartoonish.’ He didn’t sound sure, but they knew they likely shouldn’t take the images for granted.
Arda focused on websites, prioritizing old-school forums, that were bound to be less digitally altered. ‘If the belly is distended,’ he read off the screen. ‘What does distended mean?’
‘Uh, big? I guess?’
‘Oh, why is this so hard?’ Arda moaned impatiently. ‘How can we know if we feed him too little?’
‘Won’t he just cry for more milk?’ Dean wondered, his teeth biting into his lower lip as he regarded the kitten happily suckling on the syringe. ‘Like human babies do?’
‘Okay,’ Arda didn’t sound convinced. ‘But how can we know that he’s crying because he’s hungry, and not because of something else?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s cold, or he’s scared of Mía, or he misses his momma,’ Arda blurted the first three excuses that came to his mind. ‘We can’t know!’
‘Maybe it’s like how human moms just know why their baby is crying?’
The silence that settled after that question was thick enough to make Arda’s skin prickle and a shade of pink bloom in Dean’s cheeks.
‘You’re right, that’s stupid,’ Dean stated meekly, despite Arda not having said a word. ‘Forget I said anything.’ He let out a long, heavy sigh as the final drops of the formula left the syringe. He looked at the empty plastic tube, then at Arda. ‘We’re fucked. We’re way out of our element.’
‘Yeah,’ Arda breathed hopelessly. ‘We really are.’
The kitten let go of the rubber tip of the syringe, his mouth stained with a rim of white milk. His eyelids were heavy, drooping under the sedative quality of a full stomach. Capitalizing on the sudden lethargy, Arda reached into the fleece nest and gently lifted the kitten up into his palms, inspecting the pocket-sized body. The baby claws didn’t even extend this time. The kitten was too sleepy to fight his rescuers.
‘Look,’ Arda insisted, unable to sanitize his voice of a hint of optimism. ‘He’s like a pear, no? His belly is kinda round. This must be the pear everyone talked about.’
Dean leaned in, squinting hard as he stared at the furry little lump. ‘I… I don’t know. He just looks like a potato to me. I can’t tell.’ He rubbed the back of his neck when a sudden spark of memory lit up his face. ‘Wait! The clerk. He told me something else. He said that after kittens eat, you have to rub their parts with cotton balls to make them go to the bathroom.’
‘What?’ Arda asked surprised, his brow knitted.
‘They can’t go on their own,’ Dean explained. ‘Their momma usually licks them, so we have to do it like that. Kinda…’
Arda stared at Dean dumbfounded. ‘Rub his… do you even have cotton balls?’
‘Do you?’ Dean countered defensively.
‘Yes! Nurgül always makes me have some in case she comes to visit!’ Arda felt stupidly vindicated at having his sister nag him so often about this. ‘She uses them to take off her make-up.’
‘Do I look like I wear make-up?’ Dean scoffed, amused.
‘Great. Perfect. Just great,’ Arda muttered, his thumbs flying across the phone screen again, desperate for a piece of online wisdom. ‘Okay. People say that you can use toilet paper. Just toilet paper dunked in warm water. Damp, not soaking wet. It should feel like a momma’s tongue.’
‘Let’s hope it does,’ Dean stood up, clasping his belly in pain at the sudden movement, and vanished into the bathroom. He returned a few moments later with a thick wad of toilet paper and a bottle. ‘Here!’ He tossed the bottle into Arda’s lap before kneeling back down. ‘Rubbing alcohol. I didn’t see any blood on your shirt, so I assume he didn’t scratch that hard, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe, right?’
Arda couldn’t help but crack a smile at Dean’s care. He nodded, and uncapped the bottle. He dabbed some alcohol onto his fingers, and wiped the faint red lines on his belly.
Meanwhile Dean took a deep breath, gathered the toilet paper in one hand, and carefully lifted the sleepy kitten, turning him upside down. The kitten let out a weak, offended meow, his hind legs splaying in the air, thoroughly displeased with the inversion. Dean’s hands were visibly shaking now. He began to rub the paper against the kitten’s lower abdomen, his face tight in concentration.
‘I’m afraid I’m gonna hurt him,’ a hint of panic slipped into Dean’s voice. ‘What if I press too hard and I make him throw up?’
Arda bit his lips. ‘But if you don’t press enough, it might not work,’ he countered, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched Dean’s clumsy movements.
Dean adjusted his grip and continued the same rhythmic motion. For a few agonizing moments, nothing happened, and the tension in the room grew thick enough to choke on. Then, a small, dark yellow circle spread across the white layers of toilet paper.
Dean stopped, and let out a massive sigh of absolute relief that seemed to shake his entire frame. ‘Oh, he peed! He finally peed.’
An incredulous chuckle slipped past Arda’s lips. It seemed unbelievable that this was the highlight of their day.
With the crisis of the first elimination averted, Dean carefully lowered the milk-drunk kitten back into his new fleece-lined cave. ‘You should eat too,’ Dean told Arda as he pulled the blanket over the top grid to seal in the warmth. ‘It’s dinner time.’
‘What about you?’
‘I don’t think I can take anything else besides a couple of crackers,’ Dean laughed weakly. He stood up and took Arda by the arm.
Dean forced Arda into the kitchen. Eating was the furthest thing from Arda’s mind despite the high-intensity training he endured today. But he was unable to refuse the bowl of tuna salad Dean had placed in front of him. Dean himself still couldn’t stomach a full meal. The virus had wreaked havoc on his body. So he simply chose to nibble on a few dry crackers like he said he would. Once Arda finished, Dean cautiously opened the living room door, releasing a happy, tail-wagging Mía. They both kept a vigilant eye on her, guiding her strictly away from the bedroom corridor and keeping the bedroom door shut at all times.
They took turns taking showers, washing away the dirt and the terror of the tiny kitten’s dread. Before bed, they returned to the floor, executing the same excruciatingly alien ritual. Feed the kitten. Stimulate its genitals until the damp toilet paper stained yellow. Afterwards Dean clicked his phone screen on, and booked an emergency appointment at the veterinary clinic for the first slot in the morning.
Because they had turned the apartment’s radiators up to their absolute limits to shield the unweaned baby from the cold drafts, the air in the bedroom was sweltering. Both Arda and Dean spent the night pacing the room in short shorts, their skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. They slept in fractured shifts, keeping an eye out for the little ball of fur.
At three in the morning, a reedy cry pierced through the darkness. Arda crawled out of bed, his heart instantly revving up to that frantic pace. For the first time, he was entirely on his own. He wanted to let Dean rest so he could recover. Mixing the formula was easy in theory. Like making a protein shake. Getting the right temperature was a different story…
After ensuring the formula wasn’t too hot against his own skin, he angled the syringe from the side just like he saw Dean do. The small mouth began pumping desperately. But the true torture came after. Holding the fragile creature upside down felt daunting. Arda pressed the damp toilet paper against the kitten’s skin, hoping the sleepy meows wouldn’t wake Dean up.
Arda realized Dean had been right. The kitten was so small. His little bones felt like toothpicks beneath the fur. Arda wasn’t a particularly buff dude, but he was sure with a fraction more pressure he could probably crush the kitten’s tiny organs. When the paper finally grew wet, a breathless relief made Arda’s head spin. Dean woke up an hour later, his eyes bleary, but steady. He let Arda collapse onto the mattress for a couple more hours of dreamless sleep.
They had a hurried early breakfast. Arda choked down an omelette while Dean managed a few spoonfuls of clear chicken soup to soothe his protesting stomach. Afterwards ,they gathered the plastic carrier and stepped out into the cool morning, heading straight for the clinic. Arda’s chest felt a bit tight by the time they arrived. He had no idea what to expect, and that gave him anxiety. The brightly lit waiting room made his thoughts race with worry.
The vet was a sharp-eyed woman with a calm demeanor. She invited them both inside, much to Arda’s relief. He wanted to hear whatever she had to say, but didn’t want to be alone with a doctor and a crying kitten. Dean gave him a small, reassuring nod.
‘Let see what we have here,’ the woman didn’t waste a second to get to work, pulling the still sleepy kitten from the carrier.
The examination seemed painstakingly thorough if Arda was to judge. The vet placed the kitten on a warmed metal table, her fingers expertly encircling the tiny body. She used a stethoscope that looked more like a toy than a medical device, and listened to the rapid-fire ticking of the kitten’s heart and lungs, nodding to herself. She gently pressed her thumb along the kitten’s abdomen, checking for internal injuries or herniation from the dog’s attack. With a small flashlight, she peered deep into the miniscule ears, checking for mites. She carefully parted the jaws to inspect the pale pink gums and the lack of teeth. Finally, she ran a fine-toothed comb through the fur, tapping the debris onto a wet paper towel. Arda noticed tiny reddish-brown spots on it after every tap.
‘Well,’ the vet began, wiping her hands. ‘The kitten is roughly two to three weeks old. It’s definitely on the skinnier side with only 368 grams. So you will need to increase the feedings. Make sure it eats formula at least four times a day. Only formula. No cow’s milk. No solids yet.’
Both men nodded, absorbing every word.
‘It has a significant load of fleas, which can cause anemia at this age. But otherwise it survived the attack without any major trauma. No other apparent diseases,’ she announced and began scratching a prescription onto a notepad. ‘I’m prescribing a topical treatment for fleas. This one’s a bit gentler with kittens’ skin. You must apply it exactly as directed. Too much, and it can cause acute dermatitis.’
Dean leaned forward, resting his hand on the table. ‘We uhm… We also have a dog at home,’ he admitted like he was confessing to a kidnapping. ‘Is there anything we should do for her?’
‘Yes, you can treat her for fleas as a preventative measure,’ the vet answered, not quite sharing Dean’s embarrassment. ‘Keep them separated for now. Once the kitten is clean, let the dog sniff its bed or blanket. Introduce them through a cracked door first. And never leave them unsupervised.’
Arda let out a long exhale that sounded like a half-sigh, half-sob. His chin dropped tight against his collarbone for a few seconds as he processed the fact that the kitten was going to be fine. ‘So we can keep him? We can take him back home?’
As the vet gathered her things from the table, a soft laugher slipped past her lips. ‘Him?’ She looked up at Arda, a wry smile on her lips. ‘I admit, it’s hard to tell by genitals when they’re this young, but I’m confident your “him” is actually a “her”. Almost all calico cats are female.’
‘O-oh,’ Arda somehow stammered a single syllable.
‘But yes, you can take her back home.’
Arda felt stupidly happy. A joy so heavy, it felt like it was clogging up his veins. He saved the little kitten. They saved the little kitten. The storm hadn’t really passed. They still had the fleas to deal with. Then making sure she gained weight. Then making sure she got along with Mía. Then informing their petsitter of the new addition to the family. But there was time to worry about all of that later. For now, Arda let himself bask in this small, yet grand victory.
A few minutes later, they were back in the car, the morning sun providing just the faintest bit of warmth through the windshield. Dean navigated the traffic, considerably more relaxed than the previous evening. In the passenger seat, Arda held the carrier securely in his lap, his eyes darting between the smile on Dean’s lips and the resting shape he saw through the plastic grid.
‘You were such a brave girl for your first time at the vet,’ Arda whispered softly.
‘She was,’ Dean confirmed with a light chuckle. ‘But now she’s coming home with us. So you might want to think of a name.’
‘Balkız,’ Arda didn’t hesitate. ‘It fits her,’ he laughed.
‘I’ll have to take your word for it, but it’s gonna be a bit hard for me to pronounce,’ Dean whined playfully. ‘Why don’t we choose something classic like Canela?’
Arda tutted. ‘We always settle for Spanish names. It’s not fair,’ he moaned.
‘Okay, fine,’ Dean smirked. ‘Then neutral ground. Cookie?’
Arda bit his lips as he thought about it. Cookie was a pretty cute English name. And she was definitely sweet enough to live up to it. ‘Cookie it is, then.’