The calico, their mother, nuzzled them gently, then looked back at me, her eyes filled with an emotion I could only describe as gratitude. It was clear. She was asking me to take them home.
My heart melted. I couldn’t leave them there. The kittens were vulnerable, exposed to the elements and the dangers of the street. So, I did the only thing I could do. I raced home, grabbed a carrier, and carefully scooped up the tiny furballs. The mother cat, who I later named Calypso, watched me, her tail twitching nervously, but she didn’t resist.
The car ride home was a symphony of tiny meows. Calypso paced anxiously in the backseat, her eyes glued to the carrier. I promised her they would be safe, hoping she understood.
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