Part 6
A heavy, muffled whump broke the dead silence. A thick slab of snow had just slid off the pitched roof of a wooden gazebo standing deep in the backyard.
Andrew turned sharply. The familiar sparrow fluttered down onto the edge of the snow-capped roofline. The bird vigorously shook its feathers, knocking away the white powder, and hopped down to the ground. It slipped straight through a narrow, dark vertical gap where the gazebo door had been left cracked open to the wind.
Andrew waded past the brick cabin, fighting through drifts that reached his thighs. When he reached the gazebo, he hooked his fingers around the edge of the wooden door and pulled. The frozen hinges let out a loud, agonizing shriek.
Inside, the air smelled heavily of damp wood, old leaves, and undisturbed dust. The light was dim, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the shadows. He immediately saw the torn, completely empty paper bag of supermarket kibble resting on the floorboards. Next to it sat a gray felt cat cave.
Andrew dropped to one knee and looked inside the opening. It was empty. There was nothing but a few loose gray hairs on the bottom.
He swept his gaze across the rest of the small space. The sparrow was hopping along the floorboards near a built-in wooden bench, methodically picking at invisible crumbs in the cracks. On top of that bench lay a shapeless, dark mound. An old wool blanket.
Andrew slowly stood up. He pulled off his heavy right winter glove and shoved it deep into his coat pocket. The air inside the structure felt even colder and more oppressive than the wind outside. Holding his breath, he reached out with bare fingers, hooked the rigid, frost-hardened edge of the heavy wool, and pulled it back.
What he saw made him clench his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
It was no longer a cat; it was just the fragile architecture of one. She was a tiny, emaciated skeleton stretched tight beneath dull skin. Her thick undercoat had devolved into a solid, filthy armor of rigid mats interwoven with dirt and wood chips. She lay on her side, her paws tucked tightly under her chest. Her eyes were shut, and her sunken ribcage was perfectly still.
A heavy, bitter knot formed in Andrew’s throat. He was too late. The realization hit him with a profound, sickening weight. He stood in the dim light, mentally cursing Vance’s pristine wool coat, his cold corporate detachment, and his own inability to get here sooner. He slowly extended his hand and rested his palm against the top of her head. The matted fur felt like solid ice.
Outside, cutting through the frozen silence, the sparrow let out a sharp, clear chirp.
Under Andrew’s fingertips, something registered. It wasn’t a movement. It was a faint, nearly imperceptible vibration. A mechanical thrum against his palm. A pulse.
Andrew froze. He stared down, terrified to trust his own senses.
The sunken eyelids twitched. With a slow, agonizing effort, Mia opened her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, cloudy and unfocused, barely reacting to the ambient light. But she was looking directly at him.
“You held on,” Andrew breathed. His voice cracked, sounding harsh and raspy in the cold air.
He didn’t waste another second. Moving carefully to avoid putting any pressure on her brittle ribs, he wrapped her entirely in the stiff wool blanket. When he lifted her, she weighed nothing—she felt lighter than the empty plastic litter box sitting in the corner. Andrew unzipped his heavy winter coat and tucked the wool bundle firmly against his chest, right over his own heart, zipping the jacket back up to trap his body heat around her. Through his sweater, he could feel the shallow, ragged rhythm of her breathing.
The trek back to the road was brutal. Andrew strapped his boots back into the skis, but he could only use one pole to propel himself; his other arm remained locked tightly across his chest to secure the cat. He moved blindly, his muscles burning with the awkward, uneven exertion, focusing entirely on the faint pulse against his ribs. The sparrow flitted from branch to branch along the fence line, pacing him all the way to the asphalt.
When he finally reached the hatchback, he didn’t bother unbuckling the skis. He just ripped them off his boots and threw them into the back. He started the engine, immediately cranking the cabin heat to the absolute maximum. He gently placed the bundled blanket onto the passenger seat, angling the vents directly at it.
Andrew opened the center console, digging past old receipts until his fingers found a forgotten paper bag of unsalted sunflower seeds. He opened his door, stepped back out into the cold, and dumped a massive pile of the seeds directly onto the packed snow near his front tire.
The sparrow sat fluffed up on a nearby branch, watching him.
“Take it,” Andrew said quietly. “You earned it.”
He slammed the door, pulled the gearshift into drive, and hit the gas. The car surged forward, speeding back toward the city, heading straight for the 24-hour emergency veterinary hospital in the suburbs.