I felt a little sad that I wouldn’t be seeing the kittens again for a while. I could already tell them apart and had named each one before the dawn broke: Binky, who tried to suck the thin feeding tube; Pokey, whose little paws moved in slow-motion; Sleepy, the one who didn’t like waking up; and Lovebug, the one who enjoyed nestling into my palm the most. Their beautiful mackerel tabby mother, whom Shawn called Clara after his grandmother, was precious and lovable. But she was weaker than her offspring, and when she wouldn’t eat on her own, I’d had to give her a bottle of watered-down baby-food meat.

After twenty minutes, Candace directed me to turn left onto a long dirt driveway. The battered mailbox we passed bore the name West. The sun shed pale streaks of light across the fertile green fields on either side of the drive. Ahead I saw a small blue clapboard house and behind that a dilapidated red barn.

“Robin’s husband left her about five years ago-just up and took off,” Candace said. “This used to be her parents’ home, so at least he didn’t leave her with a mortgage. But raising a kid like Jack alone? That’s been tough.”

“A kid like Jack?” I said.

“Little genius. Mercy Elementary has its hands full trying to teach him anything he doesn’t already know. And he’s sensitive, too. To the food, to the smells, even to what fabrics touch his skin. Never knew smart kids could be as tough to deal with as the ones without as much gray matter.”

As we approached, a black cat slunk out from behind the house and sat on the walkway as if waiting to greet us.

“What a beautiful baby,” I said as I parked behind a white Chevy truck.

“Did you ever meet a cat that wasn’t beautiful?” Candace asked.

“I definitely have not.” I killed the engine, got out and knelt near my van. I reached out, and the cat didn’t hesitate. It came straight to me to be petted.