“If you have a spare room, put her in there with food, water and her litter box. It will take time for her to adjust[7].” the lady said. “Go to the room, feed[8] and spend time with her. It won’t take long for her to trust you.”
Kitten came home with us. I filled her dishes with food and water and poured litter into her litter box.
I opened her carrier, “OK, Kitten. Are you ready?” She stared back at me. Her eyes were dark and evil with fear and doubt. “Come on little girl.” I coaxed[9].
She hissed[10], jumped from the carrier and hid behind my computer desk. “Here, Kitten.” I reached for her. Her head shot[11] forward. She bit my hand, drawing blood.
I pulled my hand back and looked at the punctures[12]. “You little ...”
She stared defiantly at me, as I pulled a Kleenex from my pocket and held it to my wound.[13] “Fine, Kitten! You can stay there.”
My computer was in the room, so I spent a lot of time there. Kitten hid in the closet when I was there, but two days later, I walked into her room. She came from behind the desk, rubbed[14] against my legs with her tail held high, and allowed me to pet her.
Later that day, Justin called me. “Dad, I came home from school and Kitten came right to me. She’s in my room now.”
I smiled. They had each other.
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