Free Outside In by Sarah Ellis

Fossick.
    â€œDon’t wreck your shoes doesn’t come next,” said Larch, beginning to flap again. “Tron says, ‘Not a kitten.’”
    â€œYou know it. Say it yourself.” Tron gave his shoe another vicious tug.
    â€œTron,” said Fossick, putting his hand on Tron’s arm. “Darken not the mirth of the feast.” Tron swatted him away.
    Blossom took Larch’s hand. “Never mind. I’ll say Tron’s part.”
    Fossick gave Tron a steady look and then continued. “So I nearly passed by. I had enough cats to manage the mice.”
    â€œYou had enough cats to love,” said Larch.
    â€œBut something made me stop and open the lid. Inside, wrapped in a towel …”
    â€œA soft yellow towel,” said Blossom.
    â€œâ€¦ was a baby, a newborn baby.”
    A baby? Lynn looked around at the group. Did they mean that Blossom was thrown away in the garbage? That was horrible. How could they be telling the story in such a jolly way?
    Then Fossick put out both arms as if to hug the air. “And the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found.” He winked at Lynn and whispered, “Some parts of this story were written by Shakespeare.”
    Larch took a deep breath. “She grabbed your finger.”
    â€œShe held on for dear life, as tight as a leech,” said Fossick. “As tight as a leech but a good deal prettier.”
    Blossom took a deep breath. “Was I stinky?”
    â€œYour head smelled like a flower,” said Fossick. “So I called you Blossom.”
    â€œShe wasn’t a steal, she was a find,” said Larch. “We do not steal. It’s a rule.”
    â€œThe best find of all time,” said Fossick. “I said to myself, Is it useful?”
    Blossom and Larch exploded into a yelling chorus. “No! No way! No use at all! Nyet. No, no, no!” Artdog began to howl.
    Larch grabbed him and squish-hugged him. “So you said to yourself …”
    â€œSo I said to myself, Is it lovely?”
    â€œYes, si, hai, darn tootin’, oui,” Larch agreed.
    Even Tron was pulled in. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
    The sound filled up the room, curling around the chairs, settling on Larch’s work table, creeping around the hanging flowers, bouncing off the hanging rugs, rising to the pipes overhead. Catmodicum woke, stretched, yawned, wandered over to Lynn and snuggled into her lap before going back to sleep.
    With Shakti as a mom, Lynn had been to some strange events in her life, especially before Clive. There was drum circle, welcoming the dawn at the summer solstice, mumming, a yoga wedding.
    But this was something else. What it reminded her of most was church, where she sometimes went with Rob and Jean. Everybody saying the same words they always said, telling the same story over and over. Like wacky church.
    The chorus of yesses wound down and Larch continued. “Useful or lovely. Finds must be one. That’s a rule.”
    â€œShe was indeed lovely,” said Fossick. “So I brought her home.”
    â€œBut I cried,” said Blossom. “I needed milk. Good milk is a hard find.”
    â€œSo I went to the petting zoo in the Lingerlands and cut them a deal. I built them some fences. They gave me goats’ milk.”
    â€œFrom the pygmy goats,” said Blossom.
    Larch jiggled up and down, tipping Artdog off his lap. “This is Larch’s best part. Did she poop and pee and puke?”
    â€œShe did. But I fixed her up, every time. Blossom loved the milk and she grew and grew, increasing in stature and beauty. And she does still.”
    There was a pause, quiet except for Catmodicum’s purr and Tron drumming his fingers on a pipe.
    â€œLast question,” said Blossom. Her voice was different. Deeper. “Was I a throwaway?”
    Fossick put a hand on Tron’s sleeve. “Tron?”
    â€œNo, you were a