A little easier

Ali rubbed the spot between her eyebrows, attempting to relax the tension there. She had begun to have second thoughts. Who knew if it would even work? This all would be for nothing.

She sighed, resting her head against the steering wheel. She had to try, there was a chance it could do so much.

Gathering up her, well, everything, Ali opened her jeep door and stepped carefully out. The sidewalk was cracked and stained, little shriveled plants sprouting in every corner. Probably not the best place to be for an alone, middle-aged woman, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth.

Two weeks earlier, Ali had been driving past this exact street when a car sped past her, throwing something out the window on its way past.

She wouldn’t have thought much about it, it wasn’t unusual in the slightest, but what did stop her in her tracks was when the thing moved. She slammed on the brakes and quickly rushed out of the vehicle, paying no mind to the other cars.

The first thing to catch her sight was bright, wet, orange fur. 

Wait, fur?

Yep, that was definitely fur. Ali kneeled down, ignoring the puddles her knees sunk in. A clumped up, frightened face stared back.

A face of a cat. An injured, cold, cat. Or kitten.

Before Ali could even think of what to do with the animal, the small feline raced off down an alley, at least as fast as it could while wounded.

She hadn't followed at the time, afraid to scare it into a more dangerous place. Ali had wished she could have gotten a better look at the injury, though she was no vet, there was a chance she could’ve done something to help.

In the end, she decided to let it be. The cars were now honking at her obnoxiously, and what would she even do with a cat? The only thought that came to mind was calling animal control, and there was no way she was doing that. So she left, and tried to not think about the little face that had stared right into hers.

And now she was back. Back in this alley that smelled of mildew and waste. Who knew if the kitten was still here, or even still alive? And what were people gonna think if they spotted her digging around trash cans and such? Ali wasn't rich but she certainly wasn't poor, and she loathed the thought of anyone thinking that. But this wasn't for her, she reminded herself. This was for Carter.

Carter, who she would journey to the ends of the earth for. Carter who at the moment needed her more than ever.

She was wearing knee-high boots and a plain shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She wasn't worried about these getting dirty, and she refrained from wearing anything back, as she wasn't in the mood for passers by to think of her as a criminal of any kind. That would be problematic.

Hastily tying her hair into a messy bun, Ali cautiously crept into the alley, having to immediately resist the urge to plug her nose.

The air was silent, with the exception of the slight breeze rustling the leaves and garbage bags. She prayed that there weren't any rats, promptly ignoring the fact that rats would most likely be the main food source to keep the kitten alive. She drew the line at rats.

The stone walls had cracks splintering across every side, and the ground was covered in rubble, asphalt and things Ali didn't even want to identify.

Avoiding the waste, she tiptoed closer to the back of a dumpster, and slowly lowered her body, making it easier to scan the area. She did this with three more dumpsters until she finally found it.

The kitten was curled up in the sunniest spot there was, its eyes closed, and ears down. Even with the sun, they were shivering, and its left back foot was sticking out at a grotesque angle.

Ali held back a grimace and gently touched its back, the fur dirty and stringy.

They didn't open their eyes, but turned over, making it apparent that he was a boy.

Dried blood crusted across his underbelly and legs, and Ali's heart hurt for him. She started to lift him, tucking his tail in her palm. He was so unbelievably small! His whole body fits in her two hands.

Still, he didn't open his eyes, but pressed closer to her skin. She guessed she was warm.

Slowly rising, Ali walked back to her jeep, opening the back door and retrieved a blank, one of Carter's old ones, and swaddled the kitten.

Getting into the driver's seat with the blanket on her lap, she drove away, silently figuring out what she would be doing next.

...

Ali sat in the vehicle for over ten minutes, staring blankly at the house. Carter was in there, doing who knows what. His dad was also there, most likely helping their blind son.

Carter was having it rough. He was eleven, and severely depressed. He was being bullied, and he was having trouble reading braille. More trouble than most. He wasn't born blind, he was diagnosed with Choroideremia, and by the time he was eight, he had lost his sight completely.

They've gotten therapists, tutors, and just general support. None of it had done anything, but Ali would never give up. Never.

She scoured the internet, asked friends, and from what she heard, allowing him to do something by himself would be a good start. The thing was, she couldn't think of anything that wasn't too dangerous.

Then, she remembered the cat incident. Taking care of a pet is difficult, but with some time and learning, she was sure Carter would find a way. He could bathe him, feed him and play. And Ali and her family could help the poor kitten, so it was a win-win.

Taking a deep, relieving breath, she stepped out, the cat snuggled in her arms, and hoped beyond hope that this would make their house a little bit brighter.