Chapter 2: The Cub on the Porch
Catherine’s fingers hovered over the phone for a moment, unsure of what to do. The sight of the cub on her porch, its amber eyes glowing in the early morning light, made her heart ache. She had spent years in the wild, around animals that needed care and attention, but she had never seen anything like this. A leopard cub, alone, and so far from home—it didn’t make sense.
She pulled herself together and dialed the ranger station. The phone rang three times before someone picked up.
“Morning,” a young voice greeted, distracted. “This is the wildlife service. How can I help?”
“Hi, this is Catherine Morrison,” she said, her voice tight. “I have a leopard cub on my porch. It’s alone, and I think it might be lost.”
There was a pause. “A leopard cub? Alone? That’s unusual. It might have wandered too far from the reserve,” the ranger replied. “We’ll send someone to check it out.”
“Could you come now? It’s been here for a while,” Catherine urged, her eyes never leaving the cub, which had shifted slightly in the shade. Its ribs were clearly visible, and its eyes still held that strange, unblinking stare.
“We’ve got a situation on the east fence right now. Could be a few hours before we can get to you,” the ranger explained.
Catherine’s stomach tightened. “I don’t think it can wait. It’s already showing signs of dehydration.”
“Right,” the ranger said. “We’ll try to make it out sooner, but we’re stretched thin today.”
Catherine felt the phone grow heavy in her hand. She hung up, staring at the cub. It was still there, sitting quietly now in the shade, its small body trembling slightly from the morning chill. The soft wind stirred its fur, but it made no move to run, no sense of urgency to return to the safety of the forest.
She stepped back from the door, torn between doing nothing and doing too much. She knew the risks—feeding a wild animal, especially one this young, could make it dependent on humans. That was dangerous for both the animal and the people around it. But it was so small, so helpless, and it was sitting there, waiting.
Catherine tried to remind herself of the rules she had followed for years. Don’t interfere. Don’t create dependence.
But the cub’s condition was becoming harder to ignore. It had not moved for an hour now, and its breathing was shallow. The midday sun would be unbearable, and she could already see the signs of dehydration in its eyes, the faint tremble in its legs.
With a sigh, Catherine crossed the kitchen to the sink and filled a shallow bowl with water. She crouched down at the door, sliding the bowl through the narrow gap between the door and the frame, and then froze.
The cub sniffed the air, hesitated, and then, with tentative steps, padded forward on trembling legs. It drank quickly, messily, spilling water down its muzzle. Catherine held her breath, watching the animal drink as if its life depended on it. Which, in a way, it did.
When the cub finished, it raised its head, locking eyes with her for a brief moment before looking back toward the trees.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Catherine whispered, almost to herself, but the words felt hollow. The cub’s gaze stayed on her, unblinking, as though it could hear the unspoken question in her heart: What now?
Before she could close the door, the cub turned and shuffled back into the shade, curling up in a small, vulnerable ball. Catherine’s heart twisted. She stepped back slowly, her mind swirling with conflicting thoughts.
Could she walk away now?
But just as she was about to close the door, she heard a faint, almost imperceptible scrape against the wood again. Something—someone—was coming.
Catherine’s breath caught. Her instincts screamed at her that something was about to change.