Free Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield Page B

suspected not. It had to have been my wish for a miracle that teased my ears.
    No! I was wrong. Somewhere nearby there was a cat, crying for help.
    About then the helicopter was passing overhead on its return trip to scoop more water out of Lexington Reservoir, to douse the southern flank of the fire.
    “Get out of here! Move!” I screamed in frustration at the noisy ’copter. “Move!”
    It seemed an eternity before it was quiet enough to be able to hear the faint meow again.
    “Here, kitty kitty kitty!” I called frantically before the helicopter returned. “Please, where are you?” I moved in no specific direction, hoping to hear again the meow that would lead me to the cat.
    There it was . . .
    The cry for help was coming from the dried-up creek bed across the road. I dropped my shovel and ran, tripping over blackened bricks and mutilated pieces of metal. At the charred edge of the creek I stood still and listened. My heart was beating fast and my hands were shaking.
    “Here, kitty kitty kitty!”
    “ Meoooow .”
    Across the creek was the wasted remains of an aluminum ladder, lying almost submerged in ash. The sound had come from there. When I reached the ladder, I gasped. There, huddled next to the first rung, was the tiniest soot-covered kitten I’d ever seen. With the bluest of eyes, it looked up at me and meowed.
    “Oh, you poor thing. Come here.” I reached down and carefully picked up the kitten. Holding it in midair in front of me, I saw that her whiskers were singed and her paws burnt . . . but she was alive.
    “Is your mom going to be glad to see you,” I said, as I cuddled the kitten in my arms. Several times I moved her close enough to kiss her dirty pink nose. I could feel her fur dry my tears. The kitten continued to meow, but it was a relieved meow. She knew she was safe.
    When I got into the van, I grabbed an extra bandanna and poured some water on it. I laid the damp cloth across my lap and placed the kitten on it. Immediately she started to lick the bandanna, sucking up some of the moisture. It had been three days since she’d had anything to drink or eat. I waited to feed her, not sure how much I should offer her.
    As we descended from the Heights, the kitten began to purr. I stroked her forehead, and tiny blotches of white fur began to appear through the black coating. She had started to groom herself but I tried to discourage her. Ingesting that much soot couldn’t be good for her. Within a few minutes, the kitten was asleep.
    As I got closer to the Red Cross shelter, I began to practice how I was going to tell April about her house. How do you break that kind of news to someone?
    April was waiting, as promised. As she ran to my van, I held the kitten up so she could see it, and for a while I forgot the house in Aldercroft Heights. I just wanted to savor the joy of this reunion.
    “Agatha!” she screamed. “Agatha!”
    April was hysterical when I handed the kitten to her through my open window. She couldn’t talk. Instead she laughed and cried, and held the kitten tightly against her chest. Agatha just purred.
    As all this went on, I got out of the van and waited for the inevitable question. When April began to calm down, I decided it was time to tell her.
    “I can’t tell you how happy I am that I found Agatha,” I said, then hesitated. “I just wish there might’ve been some way I could have saved your home, too.”
    “It’s gone?”
    I nodded. “I’m so sorry, April. There’s nothing left.” I couldn’t hold back my tears.
    April Larkin freed an arm and pulled me toward her.
    “You saved what was important,” she whispered. “You saved what was important.”
    Her words still echo in my heart.
    Terri Crisp and Samantha Glen

Pepper’s Place
    L ove stretches your heart and makes you big inside.
    Margaret Abigail Walker
    As we turned the key to open our little pet shop for the day, we heard the persistent ring of the telephone. I ran for the phone while my husband