“They are so sweet,” Mira cooed as she bent over the makeshift hydroponic tray and reached to pet the furballs.
“Don’t touch them,” Dexter yelled, slapping her hand away.
“Ow. What the—? Why not? They want to snuggle,” she snapped at Dexter as she rubbed the red mark on her wrist.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she leaned toward them again.
“I have the scars to prove it,” Dexter said as he watched Mira lean closer.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t expect me to stitch you back together.”
Mira glanced at him and smiled.
“They wouldn’t harm me, would you, my precious babies?” As Mira spoke her voice took on the sing-song quality mothers use when they speak to infants.
“Did the big, bad human hurt my little darlings?”
Dexter stood mouth agape as the furballs nuzzled Mira and made a noise he had never heard before.
“Yes, tell Mama how he stole you from me,” she said stroking them.
“Wait, a minute here. I stole nothing. They were being ejected into space with the garbage. I saved them. I’ve done nothing since I found them but try to take care of them and find their mother. They have bitten and scratched me for my trouble. Not to mention the shots and stitches. And now you accuse me of stealing?”
“Humans are a strange species. Why would you save them when most creatures consider our babies tasty treats?”
“I guess we’re gluttons for punishment,” Dexter sighed.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer