The kitten leaned in.
Mama made room in the steam.
“A kitten,” Nell told the kettles. “With its mother. Please don’t make the baby a leopard.”
Mr. Reed paused with the tea tin in his hand.
“A useful distinction.”
Nell stood on the customer side of the counter, her shopping bag tucked against her knees. The two cream-coloured kettles were warming over the charcoal. So far, neither had offered an opinion.
“Do I ask them separately?”
“I don’t know.”
She considered the two spouts.
“Then that was for both of you.”
The Waiting Part
Steam began to curl above the left kettle. Nell clasped her hands beneath her chin. Behind Mr. Reed, the courtyard gate stayed fastened on its hook, and the leaves stirred softly beyond the wall.
A pale point gathered in the mist.
“An ear,” Nell whispered.
It stretched upward.
“Not too long. That’s how the rabbit started.”
The point loosened and became an ordinary curl again.
Nell lowered her hands.
“Did I offend it?”
Mr. Reed set the tin beside the cups. “Yesterday the leopard lost its chin and found it again. We might allow this one a little time.”
She nodded. A faint smell of charcoal reached her, mixed with the dry scent of the tea leaves. The kettle bubbled beneath its lid.
Another point formed. This one kept its shape. A second appeared beside it, then a small rounded forehead and a nose no bigger than a button.
Nell’s hands rose again, but she said nothing.
Not Alone
The kitten hovered above the first spout, its little face turned toward the second kettle. That kettle was still producing a thin, untidy stream.
“Its mother hasn’t come.”
Mr. Reed glanced at the water trembling beneath the second lid. “This one was slower yesterday too.”
Nell looked back at the kitten. Its nose twitched; one tiny paw gathered beneath its chin and then came apart.
She almost repeated her request. Instead, she curled her fingers around the handles of her shopping bag and waited.
The second stream thickened.
A broad cheek appeared, followed by an ear and long, pale whiskers. The mother’s face settled higher than the kitten’s, but turned the wrong way, toward the courtyard tree.
Nell leaned a little to one side, trying to catch its eye.
“He’s over here,” she said softly.
A Little Closer
The kitten reached toward the space between the stoves. Its small nose stretched into a curl and pulled back again.
The mother turned.
Mr. Reed had been reaching for a cup. He stopped with his hand beside it.
The two streams leaned together. For a moment, the kitten’s ear blurred against the mother’s cheek. Then she lowered her face, and the small nose found hers.
Nell smiled so suddenly that Mr. Reed smiled too.
“There.”
The kitten’s paw formed once more, resting beneath the mother’s chin. Both closed their eyes. The edges of their faces drifted apart and gathered again, while the two spouts continued their quiet breathing.
Nell watched without giving either of them another instruction.
After a while, Mr. Reed said, “You asked for two cats.”
“I wanted them like that.”
He left the cup where it was.
To Tell Grandma
When the kettle whistles rose, Mr. Reed lifted the first one with his folded cloth. The kitten thinned into a bright ribbon. Nell watched the mother’s cheek loosen above the second spout.
“Bye,” she said, before the last whisker disappeared.
Mr. Reed poured the water and wrapped the tea she had come to buy. Nell tucked the packet into her shopping bag.
At home, Grandma was sorting buttons by the window.
“The kettles did cats,” Nell announced.
Grandma set down a button. “Did they?”
“A mother and a baby. I asked.”
Nell put the bag on the table and showed her with two cupped hands: the little face leaning up, the larger one bending toward it.
Grandma watched the gesture.
“You asked,” she said again, more quietly.
“Yes. They aren’t very quick at ears.”
Grandma smiled. Then she covered Nell’s cupped hands with her own.
“Tell me from the beginning.”
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