Though the office was small, the space heater did a less-than-adequate job of heating the place, and I didn’t want him to get chilled. Despite the gorgeous spring day, the night had turned cool, and I was glad I’d worn a sweatshirt. I’d also brought a couple of cat quilts along, hoping to finish hand binding them, but the lighting was too poor for sewing. So both Candace and I had added to our own warmth by sitting on the quilts instead.

The kittens, of course, with their heated pallet and their mother’s body, would be fine, temperature-wise. But the mama couldn’t lick her kittens enough-Shawn wasn’t sure why she was so weak-and every so often I stroked each one to keep its blood circulation adequate. I also had to rub their tummies with tissue after feeding to stimulate urination, another task the poor cat couldn’t do regularly enough. She didn’t seem to mind my help, but still, the babies looked so fragile, so breakable. I vowed not to make any errors tonight.

As Candace filled the Mr. Coffee with bottled water, Snug-that’s Shawn and Allison’s African Gray parrot-said, “Put on the pot, Allison. Put on the pot.”

Candace turned and stared up at his cage, which sat on a shelf close to the ceiling. “I’m not Allison, and I’m not sure I like being ordered around by a bird. Shawn needs to have a talk with you about the word please, Mr. Snug.”

“Shawn should have a talk with himself if that’s how he speaks to Allison,” I said with a laugh.

She pointed at me. “That’s a better idea.”

The mother cat mewed pathetically, and I reached into the box and stroked her head. “This sweetheart was fortunate to have been dropped at Shawn’s doorstep right before she delivered.”

“Lucky?” Candace sat back down to the grumbling tune of the old coffeepot as it worked its magic. “I’d say someone knew what they were doing-knew how amazing Shawn is with animals. Course, that might just be the cop in me, because I don’t believe in luck and I don’t believe in coincidences. No, ma’am, not me.”