᪥ Birch

     Osprey quivered as the cold seemed to pierce her thin fur, and she huddled closer to the two kits that nuzzled her belly. She could feel them trying to get closer to her, trying to escape the never-ending freeze. She wished she had milk to warm their bellies, but it was hard to hunt for herself. She hadn’t caught a glance or even heard from her mate, Oak, since the kits had been born. It worried her to leave her children alone for so long, she was always too paranoid to catch anything of value. What if there was a fox nearby? Or a mischievous cat…

     She stared sadly at her thinning sides, and shivering kits that rested near them. Osprey couldn’t bear to hear their hungry wails almost every night, they filled her with guilt and anger. Why did Oak leave when he was needed most? She didn’t understand.

     She snapped her head up as she nodded off, only for a second. Her kit’s cries had kept her awake during the nights, and she kept herself awake with her worrying. The sudden movement made one of her kits flinch, Wreck, who looked most like his father. Osprey stretched her neck to lick the brown tabby’s head, and she thought she caught a trace of a smile on his face.

     Staring out into the rain she sighed, wondering about her missing mate. She found herself doing this a lot, daydreaming about how Oak would come back and they would live happily ever after. She cast her gaze down, defeated. Her kits would starve and so would she.

     Osprey huffed irritably as droplets plopped onto her head, yet stayed still for the sake of them all. She didn’t want to disturb the already weak kits, and her legs were cramping from the low temperatures.They’re home wasn’t very protective, being underneath a rotting porch that constantly smelled of mold no matter how thoroughly you cleaned the place. It kept no warmth or cool in when it was needed, and she was often freezing in the leaf-bare or overheating in greenleaf. But it was the best home they had right now, unless they wanted to live out in the open where a multitude of threats lingered.

     A long, stretching shadow was cast, blocking the outside light from Osprey’s eyes. Blinking to adjust to the sudden change, she widened her eyes, and a mixture of relief and anger washed over her. Oak stood in the entryway, with what looked like some sort of prey in his jaws.

     As droplets of water streamed from her mate’s whiskers, she couldn’t help but notice that he was unable to meet her look. But before thinking anything of it the prey in his mouth suddenly mewled pitifully, a sad sounding cry, making her jump with surprise.

     As the thing sobbed, Oak mumbled, “I found her abandoned in the rain,” he meowed, a guilty glint in his eyes, “I couldn’t just leave her.”

     Osprey felt pity for the itty bitty kit, yet couldn’t help but dig her claws into the mushy dirt below, “You leave for days on end, come back, and expect me to take yet another child for you to abandon? Is this some sort of apology?” she growled, “And get her out of the rain! She’ll freeze to death in these conditions, do you toms not know anything?”

     Oak hurried forward, placing the calico down by her belly, “Osprey, stop with your yelling, I’ve had enough things to do… don’t give me another headache.”

     “Like what? What's more important than your own kits? We could have starved!” she hissed, fur fluffed and ears flattened.

     “Like- like-” he paused, “I’m here now, isn’t that enough?” Oak snapped

     “Barely,” she snarled under her breath before looking at the three kits. The calico was slightly bigger than the others, and much louder. She watched as Wreck and her other kit, Cow, recoiled away from the noise.

     Osprey was spooked when Oak abruptly whispered, with a sudden look of softness in his eyes, “What’s their names?”

     “Cow,” she pointed at each kit as she said their names, “Wreck, and…”

     “What about Birch? I think it's beautiful,” Oak said, huddling close to escape the cold that even seemed to bother the thicker-furred cat.

     She nodded, staring emotionless at the calico, “Birch will do.”