They would come to her for help. Sometimes it would be a trapped bird, a limping stray, a dog that wouldn’t stop barking at the fence. She always helped. Then they thanked her politely and went back to their own full lives. Catherine stayed behind with the quiet. That morning, she had just reached for the kettle when a sound made her pause.
It was faint, a gentle scratching against the glass door that led to her porch. She frowned, waited. There it was again. She crossed the kitchen, bare feet cool against the tile, and pulled the curtain aside. A leopard cub sat on the porch.