"Oof!"
Amy came to a stop, her skis flushing up a spray of snow, and then turned back to Georgie. Despite the best lessons that she'd given that morning, Georgie was currently face-down in the freshest powder that Mount Ruapehu had to offer. "The flat things on your feet go on the ground, Georgie," she said.
"Well, aren't you a regular ski goddess." Georgie struggled to her feet, wiping snow off of her face.
Ahead of them, Morgan laughed. "Ask Amy how long it took her to stay upright."
Morgan seemed like she was born on the slopes. Amy liked to imagine that that was what happened when you became a billionaire—they handed you a pair of skis and made you practice until you could make it down a mountain without embarrassing the rest of your peers. It had to be part of the whole deal. It was hard to imagine the rich and famous falling flat on their perfect faces.
Amy, however, an escapee from dirtbag nowhere in Arizona, had spent the last three months trying her hardest to stop rolling down the local ski-field like a human avalanche.
Not that Georgie needed to know that.
Amy waved her hands in the air. "Everyone learns at their own pace. Let's move on."
"I think I need a time out," Georgie huffed. "My face feels like it's going to freeze off."
Morgan looked between the other two. "Aperitif time?"
"Aperitif time," Amy agreed. "And by 'aperitif', we do mean 'bourbon,' right?"
The three of them made their way toward the ski field's restaurant, boots crunching through crisp white snow.
When Georgie had announced a trip to Australia, Amy had forced herself to extend an invitation to drop in. She hadn't really expected that Georgie would take her up on it—there was a whole entire ocean in the way!—but here she was.
Georgie had never been a friend, exactly, but she'd never been an enemy, either. Amy had left her old life behind—well, that was that polite way of saying that she;d burned it to the ground. Still, it was weirdly kind of nice to see someone from the good old days again.
Even though she was ninety-nine percent sure that Georgie was just using her for free ski-trip accommodation.
The Whakapapa ski fields may not have been the biggest and the flashiest in the world, but they certainly suited Amy just fine. Especially the resort restaurant, with its roaring wood fires and spirits…
Her dream of relaxing by the fireside disappeared with the first glimpse of orange fur.
Some of the resort staff were standing in a huddle around the side of the restaurant, something small and wriggly held between them in their hands. They didn't notice the three women walking past, too intent on their own secret problem.
At the sight of Amy's neck craning, Morgan gave her a pat on the shoulder. "You've been a journalist for too long to mind your business now."
Amy gave her girlfriend a thankful smile, then walked up to the group. "What's up?"
"Oh, hey, Ames." Will, a local, nodded at Amy, then down towards his cupped hands. "Check this out! Someone found her out the back of the restaurant. No mom cat in sight."
He opened his hands to reveal the skinniest little kitten that Amy had ever seen. When he carefully shifted it in his hands, moving like he was holding the most fragile thing, it let out a miserable squeak of protest. Its eyes weren't even open yet, its little face turning this way and that as it blindly searched for its mother.
"Oh my god," Amy said. "I'm going to cry."
"No, you're not. You're going to call a vet and get them to start making some kitten milk."
Amy stared at Georgie. She hadn't even noticed the other woman joining her, too focused on the little scrap of misery in Will's hands. "What?"
"Kitten milk," Georgie said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "People think you can give them, like, regular milk milk, but you can't."
She noticed the incredulous look that Amy was giving her. "Ugh, my mom breeds Siamese," she explained, with an expansive roll of her eyes. "I know way too much about cats."
Now that she mentioned it, Amy could see a certain sibling resemblance between Georgie and the average show cat. Amy decided not to mention it. "Will it make it?"
Left to her own devices, Georgie was a Prada-powered bitch on wheels. Still, when she saw a problem, she shifted straight into business mode. As Will handed the kitten over, Georgie ran her hands over it in what must have been a series of checks, too fast and efficient for Amy to follow their purposes. The tiny little creature let out a tiny little peep, struggling at his manhandling.
"He's fine, just skinny," Georgie continued. "It is a 'him', too—but not for much longer, unless you can keep him warm and go get that kitten milk."
Will looked around at his co-workers, and then swore. "We're on shift, we can't leave."
Warmth… warmth…
Someone had to do it.
Amy groaned, then tugged open her jacked and popped the tiny scrappy creature down into her undershirt, cradling it against her cleavage.
"I'm going to get fleas," Amy managed, and, yup, she was already starting to tear up. The kitten was so cold, and so small…
"You'd better not." Georgie flapped a hand. "I still have to stay at your place, and if you give me fleas, I'm telling all ofmy followers."
Morgan hung up her phone, and then held up her car keys. "I phoned the closest vet. She's got some formula in stock."
Amy sighed. "That bourbon's going to have to wait."
*
Amy had never owned a cat. There had been strays lurking around the town she grew up in, of course, and then there had been the odd alleycat she had got used to seeing around her apartment buildings. But they had all seemed like they had their own affairs, and had never needed much from the humans that had passed them.
This little guy, however, was different.
"Just think of it like feeding a baby," Georgie explained. "If that baby was, um, sideways? And hairy."
Amy adjusted the cradle of her arm against her body. Nestled into a bed of towels, the little kitten refused to drink from the bottle in her other hand.
The vet had given him a clean bill of health minus the skinniness, but there hadn't been anyone free to foster him for another week. She'd sent a reeling Amy home with the kitten, a box of powdered cat formula, a teeny-tiny bottle, and a printout of how to combine the three of them.
The printout had not been helpful. "I don't know how to feed a baby, either!" she protested. "They gave me one of those fake babies in high school to convince me not to have sex. I got a screwdriver and took the batteries out."
She looked up at Morgan, leaning over the back of the armchair to watch. "Are you secretly good with kids?"
Morgan shook her head. "Nope, no baby experience here." She tapped her chin, thoughtful, as she looked down at the kitten. "I once worked on an algorithm for more efficient piglet-feeding, though. That's more or less the same."
"That is absolutely not the same," Georgie declared firmly.
Outside the door to the living room, Morgan's pack of dogs paced back and forth, whining a little about being cut off from the mysterious activities inside. A series of curious noses whuffed and huffed under the door.
Whether it was because of the predators lurking outside, the strangeness of the situation, or just general stubbornness, the kitten bit the bottle's teat in gummy fury, squeaking in anger.
"Your eyes aren't even open!" Amy groaned. "How can you be this mad?!"
Georgie kicked up her feet, leaning back in her armchair. She sipped her drink. "I'd be mad too, if a stranger kidnapped me and stuffed me into their boobs."
Amy glanced up at Morgan. "That'd depend on whose boobs they were."
"Gross. No PDA while I'm around, thanks."
"Homophobe."
Morgan ignored them. "Try jiggling it."
"Babe, it's not a loose computer cable."
"Not like a computer cable, like a baby." Morgan did an unconvincing mime of someone rocking their arms. "That's what parents do, right?"
"Fine." Amy looked down at the little kitten. Despite not even having teeth yet, it wrinkled its nose, hissing. Gently, she began to rock it back and forward, swaddled in the crook of her elbow.
"Guys, I really don't think momma cats rock their babies," she protested. "They don't have arms." But even as she was saying the words, something was happening. The little scrap of orange hostility began to settle down, wriggling less and less.
With her free hand, Amy brought the bottle up to the kitten's face. This time, it latched on.
When it came to animals, Morgan was no push-over. She might have had a pack of rescue dogs, but they were less like furbabies and more like housemates. Despite that, she leaned in to take in the sight of the orange kitten nursing, her ice-blue eyes widening in surprise. "Well, look at that."
"Shh!" Amy warned, and then caught herself. "I mean, please don't disturb him."
"Sounds like someone's getting clucky," Georgie teased.
Amy glared at her. "Don't make me take your batteries out," she warned, but she couldn't keep the threatening tone up. As she looked down at the kitten drinking, its paws kneading the bottle, she found herself smiling.
*
Along with feeding instructions, the vet had given them instructions for the kitten's bed: a cardboard box, a hot water bottle, and a soft towel. Amy and Morgan had set it up in the mudroom, where it was quiet, warm, and securely locked away from the dogs.
Amy was a night owl. Morgan got up disgustingly early. Between the two of them, they could leave the kitten by itself overnight.
When Amy gave up her late-night work on her laptop (okay, it was mostly rubbernecking at Twitter fights, window-shopping for things she'd never actually buy, and looking up what happened to one-hit celebrities from the nineties), she quietly slipped into bed.
Morgan didn't open her eyes. "Cold hands," she warned, but she pulled Amy close. Amy snuggled down against Morgan,
It was incredible how nice the simple things in life could be when you had a hot billionaire babe by your side. She slid her legs against Morgan's, luxuriating in the feel
Around them, the cozy cottage was quiet. The moon shone outside the window, highlighting the snow on the mountain peaks.
Amy couldn't sleep.
There was a long silence.
"He'll be fine in the mudroom," said Morgan.
"Yeah, I know," agreed Amy. "He has everything he needs, he'll be fine. It's not like he's a human baby or anything."
"Good," said Morgan. "I'm glad we're on the same page."
An hour or so later, Amy woke up to the feeling of Morgan slipping out of bed. She pricked her ears up for the sound of the floorboards in the hallway.
Long squeak? That was definitely the floorboard to the left, leading towards the mudroom. Not the way to the bathroom.
Busted, Morgan.
When Morgan slipped back into bed, Amy pretended to be asleep. She'd tease Morgan about it in the morning.
An hour of tossing and turning later, Amy slid out of bed herself.
Okay, Morgan had gone to check on the kitten because she was a compulsive over-worrier, who still needed to micromanage her projects at all hours despite having given up her CEO position years ago.
Amy, though, was just going to the kitchen for a drink of water, which was a perfectly reasonable thing to do in the middle of the night. And while she was out there, she may as well check in on the kitten. It was purely incidental. Yep. No worrying here, no sir.
Unlike her girlfriend, though, she was going to be sneaky about it. She was a straight-up ninja. In the dark, she stepped gracefully over the creaky floorboard, moving silently through her house. She turned the door handle as slowly as possible, and then carefully crossed the threshold, breath held...
The lights flicked on.
"Look," said Georgie, rubbing her eyes in the doorway of the guest bedroom. "Can you two just move his box into your room, already? I'm trying to get some sleep."
*
The days passed in a blur of scheduled bottle-feeds. Soon, the kitten was reacting to the sound of Amy's alarm, wiggling his fat little ears in anticipation of a full belly—and hissing when Amy was 0.5 seconds too slow for his liking.
"You're a rude little bully, you know that?" Amy rocked the kitten as he drank from the bottle, his paws clawing clumsily at the rubber nipple. "If this is what you're like before you can even see, your foster parents are in for a lot of trouble."
Morgan, stretched out on the couch with a book in hand, looked up. "You should call the vet about that, by the way. She should have a foster family ready soon."
Amy looked down at the kitten. "I should, shouldn't I?"
A pause lingered in the air. Morgan gave her a look. "Are you--"
The sound of the door opening saved Amy from an awkward conversation. A series of footsteps clomped down the hallway, peppered with "Get out the way! Shoo! Let me through!"
Eventually, Georgie managed to get past the dogs, and slipped into the living room. "Morning, slackers."
"How was the skiing?"
"Oh, perfect," Georgie breezed. "Once I got used to it, it's no big deal. Those slopes are my bitches."
"Sounds like you're killing it," Amy said, and didn't say anything about the wet snow-stains on the back of Georgie's snow gear.
From under the door came the whuffling of miserable noses.
"Ignore them, they're fine," Morgan said, turning back to her book. "Being locked out of a room for a while won't kill them."
Through the gap underneath the door, Amy could tell the noses apart: there was O.J.'s neat little black nose, and Boris trying to fit his giant muzzle underneath… "I do feel bad about kicking them out, though. They just want to hang out with their family."
The two of them looked at each other.
"We shouldn't… we shouldn't introduce the kitten to the dogs," Morgan said, slowly.
"No, of course not," Amy agreed. "That's just silly."
"It would stress him out."
"And what's the point? We're just taking care of him for a short time," Amy said, with a definitive nod. "The dogs don't need to get used to him."
"Good," said Morgan. "I'm glad we're in agreement."
They sat there on the couch for a while in silence, not looking at each other.
"Still," Morgan said, her voice airy, "the dogs are curious about what we're hiding in that box."
"Maybe we should let them see him, just so that they stop focusing on him."
"Oh my god," said Georgie, shouting from the kitchen. "Just do it, or I will!"
It didn't take Morgan long to arrange her dogs like a line of troopers: Major and Boris, the big but gentle pig-dog mixes. Muffin, the little terrier mix, looked like he'd been stitched together out of different parts that someone had found in a scrap bin, covered in patches, one ear raised and the other floppy. O.J., a staffy, sat and beamed up at them, his tail thumping out a neat little beat.
Even little Bella was there; the aloof old lady had deigned to come along with the rest of the pack for once. Amy smiled. All of them were just that curious, huh?
"Sit," said Morgan, and the pack of dogs did so.
"You've got them well-trained," Georgie said with appreciation in her voice.
"I like my pets to be well-behaved," said Morgan.
Georgie flicked a quick look over at Amy, and the corner of her mouth twisted up to fight a smile.
Amy glared. "No dirty talk in front of the baby."
She stepped in front of the dogs, and extended the kitten in her cupped hands.
The kitten froze. His little triangle of a tail puffed up like a Christmas tree, almost vibrating.
"Aw, he's scared," said Amy, and began to pull him back. "This was a bad idea, I'll put him back--"
But before she could, he leaned forward. The tiny little kitten stretched out as best he could, paddling his paws to try to pull himself forward in Amy's hands. Amy had to rearrange her hold on him, trying to keep him from wriggling out of her grasp.
Both sides of the divide stretched out as far as they could, noses whuffling furiously as they examined each other.
Then… nothing happened. The dogs looked at Morgan with expressions that read so, are we done here, or…? and then began to drift away in search of better entertainment.
Georgie, hot chocolate in hands, was a much better target. "Morgan, your mutts want marshmallows!" she yelled, sweeping up her saucer and holding it out of canine reach.
"They can have one each," Morgan said, uninterested in the fate of Georgie's food. As Georgie stormed out, followed by a polite train of hopeful dogs, Morgan gave the kitten a gentle poke. "He seemed more curious than scared."
Amy blinked down at the kitten in her hands, now wriggling his general unhand me, woman! wriggle. "I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. Your dogs were great with him, too."
"They're okay with cats," Morgan explained. "A neighbor used to have one, and it would sun itself on the back verandah. They'd just step around the damn thing." She nudged O.J. with her foot. "They're terrible guard dogs."
O.J. wiggled towards her, pleased with the attention. She scratched him behind the ears, making him lean into it with obvious delight.
The next time they fed the kitten, it was with the dogs sprawled out on the floor, like it was all a normal part of family life.
*
Weeks later, Amy did take the kitten to the vet.
But it wasn't to talk about foster families.
Outside the cottage window, the moon began to set. Snow was settling in slow, gentle drifts. On pine boughs, owls rustled their silent wings, preening in readiness for their midnight patrols. Underneath the figure of Mount Ruapehu, the tiny town slept.
Inside the warm walls of the cottage, the bedroom was spotted with snoring animals. Two pig-dogs stretched out on the floor, their long limbs tangling together. In their beds in the corner, the terriers tucked up into neat little circles, their noses touched to their tails.
And right in the middle of the king-sized bed, uncaring of the inconvenience, slept a small orange kitten, with a collar that said Bourbon.
Tucked together in bed, Amy looked up at Morgan. "You… don't mind, right?"
Morgan tugged Amy closer against her. "This is your home, too. If you want to fill it with animals, you're welcome to."
"You say that now," Amy grinned. "Wait until I get into a boa constrictor phase."
"I might have something to say about that," Morgan warned, but wrapped her arms around Amy all the same.