The kitten was sitting in the gutter, in the pouring rain, crying piteously. It was the work of a moment to pick her up and slide her inside his coat.
Once home he handed the dripping thing to his wife.
Once dry, warm and fed, the kitten climbed into his lap and looked adoringly into his eyes.
“I think I’ll call her Dearest,” he spoke with rare gentleness and his wife sighed.
In bed that night he was tender.
They never discovered what suffocated his young wife in her sleep, although the post mortem found ginger hairs in her throat.
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