“Lucy, I think… I hit a cat…” I gasped into the phone, my voice shaky.
“And?” Lucy replied, her tone completely calm.
“What do you mean, ‘and’? What should I do?”
“At least get out of the car and check if it’s still alive.”
I swallowed hard. The driveway was empty, the evening air thick with a metallic scentlike fear itself. Slowly, I opened the door and leaned forward without fully stepping out, peering under the car. And there it wasalive. A little grey bundle, trembling, but its eyes were open.
“Its alive, Lucy. It’s alive… What do I do?”
“What do you mean? Take it to the vet. Youre heading there anyway. Just hurry up!”
Carefully, I lifted the catit didnt resist, just lay there, breathing heavily. I placed it in the backseat in a shoebox that happened to be on the floor, then set off.
The clinic was usually half an hour away. But not that day. That day, thirty minutes stretched into an eternity.
Because in the boot, there was already a dog. An old mutt, hit by a train. My holiday neighbors had asked me to take it to be put down”humanely, so it doesnt suffer,” theyd said. A stray, nobody really wanted it, but we felt sorry for it. So I agreed. Almost without thinking.
And now this cat, too.
I sped down the road like a madman, one thought racing through my head: *What kind of day is this? What kind of life is this?*
At the clinic, to my surprise, there was no queue. I rushed in with the box in my arms like I was bringing my wife to the maternity wardthe vet took it immediately and whisked it away.
“How is it? Will it be okay?” I paced outside the door.
“Well take an X-ray,” the nurse nodded. “Doesnt seem too bad, but well make sure.”
Fifteen minutes. A lifetime. The clocks seemed to mock me, standing still as I circled the room, staring at posters of British Shorthairs and Maine Coons.
And all the while, something gnawed at me. Not just worryguilt. Because I hadnt seen it. I shouldnt have been driving so fast. So many things couldve been different. Ittiny, helpless, stepping onto the road a second laterme, distracted by the turnoff to the clinic. And just like that. One moment. One fateful clickand there I was, throat tight, begging silently: *Just let it live. Let me fix this.*
Finally, the vet returned.
“It needs surgery.”
And then I rememberedthe dog was still in the car!
I hurried back. Quiet. No whimpers. No movement. I pressed the button, and the boot slowly opened.
Two frightened eyes stared up at me from the dark. It was alive.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Sorry… well figure this out.”
Back to the clinic. I grabbed the veta stern, no-nonsense woman.
“Theres a dog, too. In the boot. Hit by a train. Its hind legs… well…”
“They called about putting it down. Said there was no chance.”
I froze, unable to finish.
The womans face didnt change. She just grabbed a coat over her scrubs and followed me.
We opened the boot. She looked at the dog, then at me. Her eyes cut through me like an X-ray.
“Are you mad? Who said it needed putting down? Yes, its legs wont heal. But it can live. Weve handled worse. Bring it in.”
I nodded. Didnt argue. The vet said, “Itll live.” That was enough.
That evening, I burst through the door. Lucy turned from the stove, startled.
“Whats wrong, Dave?”
Wordlessly, I went to the bedroom, pulled out an old book where Id stashed money. A dream. A motorbike. None of that mattered now.
“Dave?! Whats going on?”
“Theyre going to live!” I shouted. “Both of them!”
“Who? Have you lost it?”
“Ill explain later!”
We kept them. The cat became Molly. The dog, Rex. Together, we survived it allIV drips, sleepless nights, rehab.
Lucy just said, “If theyre with us, well manage.”
And she did. She hand-fed Molly, tucked Rex in. We cried when Molly took her first steps. Laughed when Rex raced across the yard in his little wheelchair.
Five years passed. They werent pets. They were family.
Today, when I got home, the smell of baking hit me. Lucy hugged me from behind, tight. And she was shaking.
“What happened?” I turned to her.
“Were expanding…” she whispered, resting a hand on her stomach.
At first, I didnt understand. Then… I did.
Im forty. Shes thirty-seven. We tried for so long. Almost gave up. Almost.
But once, a strange woman told us: *”Youll have three children. Two from natures gift. OneGods. For your kindness. For your patience. The road wont be easy, but it will be bright.”*
Molly curled up asleep next to a plush rabbit on the windowsill. Rex, old now, hobbled over, pressed against my leg, and sighed.
Back then, I didnt believe it.
Now? I do.
Because once, we said *”yes”* to life.
And life said *”yes”* back.
Lizzie, I think… I think I just hit a cat…” I gasped into the phone.
