The pen spun in rapid circles until it reached the edge of the desk and plunged to the carpet below. Russia watched it disappear, his right hand still held out even after the pen had been flicked. He had not meant to overdo it, but now it was comfortable on the floor and he would have to get up in order to get it. He exhaled slowly, but did not move as a wave of fatigue splashed him with a cold touch.
Flashes of the meeting he had just returned from played in his mind's eye. He found himself at the table again, listening to the others speaking. He remembered being sidetracked for but a few moments, before picking up on an unexpected jeer thrown towards him from America. It was not necessarily surprising; the Cold War had only just finished and there were still bitter feelings shared between them both. America however, felt utterly convinced that he had won. In Russia's presence, he seemed to puff out his chest in self-pride, and Russia knew that in the other's mind he was probably congratulating himself as the world's hero.
America's preening was irritating, especially when it received support from so many of the others. They may find America to be a lot to handle in set periods of time, but he was still liked vastly more than he was. America was not feared like he was. He was not despised like he was. After the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia started to understand what it meant when people avoided him, clustered together when he approached, glared at him, and spoke in tones sharpened by blades.
America had called him a communist, or rather, the diminutive version commie in front of the others. It had been hard to formulate a response. For a while, Russia could only stare back, dumbfounded. He had thought, America, don't you know that those times are over? Do you truly believe that I am still run by communism? How… then he became unsure if America was unaware, or if he was only mocking his past. America could mix up details about other countries, so it was not out of the realm of possibility that he had done it again.
It then dawned on him that America did know, when he saw the hint of a smile on his lips. Russia saw everyone else turning their heads towards him, and most of their gazes were not friendly in the slightest. He did not want to show how affected he was, however. Russia smiled and began to reply, but then America cut in, sniping him on his hesitation.
Now he felt a tug of his heart as he recalled all those cruel eyes. He had started to notice as well that they did not look at America that way. Russia pushed his computer to the side so that he could slide his folded arms up the desk and lay his chin down on one wrist. He lay there for a while in the doldrums, decidedly done work for the day.
Do they think of me as the villain, in a battle against the hero America? I don't want to be the villain. I do not feel like I am a bad person.
He turned his head and stared out the window. On the ground level, he could easily see how the snow was piling up in the increasing storm. Russia's eyes flickered as he watched the fat flakes falling, trying to focus on individuals before they stuck to the ground. When this became too much of a task, he let the snowflakes blur in his near vision to look out into the distance.
Movement caught his eye up in a tree across his yard. He expected to find a bird puffed up on a branch, but at first he could see nothing. Then, a slight movement again, and he made out patches of gray fur that seemed to float over the branches. Except, he soon realized, the gray fur he was seeing was a part of a fluffy, white body, and he made out the shape of two triangular ears against the sky thick with clouds.
He jolted from his chair. There's a cat out there! his mind cried out in horrified surprise. The storm carried on, the wind picking up and rattling the bare branches that the cat clung to. Russia scrambled out from his office, stuffed himself into his coat and boots, grabbed his gloves, then hurried out. Immediately upon leaping out into the cold, a gust of stinging air slapped him. This set him into a state of urgency, panicking for the cat that had been outside exposed to the harsh conditions for what was perhaps a long time.
The door was slammed shut as he trudged across the yard through the snow. He was trying to sprint, but the snow impeded him greatly. He crammed his hands into the gloves as he powered on. When he reached the base of the tree, he stopped for a moment to look up and plan his course of action.
It was not a large tree, but its branches were concerningly thin to him. The lowest ones were close enough to grab if he could complete a good jump, but he saw the snow lining the branches and knew that they would be slippery.
A high-pitched mewl rang out from above, crushing his heart. Russia leaped up and snatched the lowest branch with both his hands. His hands slipped over the smooth surface, but his fingers clawed desperately until a grip was found. Russia lifted his legs up and wrapped them around the branch, then reached for another to help turn himself around. Once sitting up with his weight spread between a few branches, he inhaled the sharp air, and checked upwards again.
A white face with a delicate, pink nose looked down at him. Wide, blue eyes focused on him and another thin mew was emitted. Tiny paws skidded across the branch as it edged towards the trunk with its skimpy tail held out for balance. Russia made his way upwards, his mind crying out, It is just a little kitten!
It leaned over the branch, wailing at him. The branches Russia grabbed began to snap as he came closer to where the kitten perched. Dread rose in his heart as he imagined the drop. He knew his body could take it, but he did not want to be hit and knocked unconscious or injured; the kitten would then be stuck in the tree in the storm longer.
He rose up and he was face-to-face with the kitten. It reached out its paws and crawled onto his shoulders, soon wrapping itself around his neck like a wet, exhausted scarf. Russia felt it settle in, grateful for its cooperation, then he swiftly dropped down the branches. He was halfway down when there was a double crack and both branches he had just grabbed crumbled away from the tree. He yelped as his feet plunged between the remaining branches.
Afraid to land on his back, Russia leaned forward with his arms and legs out. He smacked into the snow face-first. His fall had been cushioned, yet the snow had driven itself up his sleeves and down the collar of his coat. When he raised himself up, he felt his face burning. He brushed the snow off his face and gloves before promptly reaching back for the kitten. He felt around for its body, then lifted it over his head. He tucked the kitten behind the open folds of his coat and cradled it to his warmth as he walked back.
Relief overwhelmed him once he was inside. He set the kitten down on the floor to remove his things. It collapsed limply on the rug, and Russia felt a pang.
Kittens should not be so still.
He scooped it up carefully, supporting its backend with one arm while the other went around its front. The arm that was higher was free, so he spent his time stroking the kitten as he padded across the house. He made it to a closet and peeled the door open. He retrieved a towel off the shelf then sat down right where he was in the hall. The kitten was placed in his lap, and he took his time thoroughly drying off the drenched creature. After a while, the fur that had been clinging to its bony figure fluffed out. He kept switching parts of the towel to better dry it, and soon the rubbing was circulating warmth through its body.
The kitten began to purr. Russia felt its tiny claws kneading into his pants as he dug the towel into its rump again, trying to dry the thickest of its fur out. He took away the towel once the fur was soft and back to normal. He ran his fingers down its spine, gently petting its fragile frame. He frowned when he found a bump of a scar by its shoulder. It was not bothered however, and when he put his index finger under its chin, it raised its head, eyes closed and purrs rising in volume.
"You look like you are getting better already," Russia cooed to it with a pleased smile stretching across his face.
He picked it up again and took it to his room. He set it on his huge bed, where it stood stiffly on paws that it had not yet grown into, looking around in awe at the sea of wrinkled blanket around it. Russia quickly exchanged his wet sweater for a clean, dry one, then turned and looked over the bed. The kitten had already crept up to a crease in the blanket, trying to figure out a way over it. Russia smiled again as he regarded its determination, its desire to go over instead of around. Eventually it leaped over the bump and landed, startled. Russia inhaled a laugh, absentmindedly noticed the kitten's sex, then approached the bed.
"You are so sweet," he told her. He extended his fingers, and the kitten hobbled over to rub her cheek against them.
"Maybe you are hungry?" he asked, remarking on her tiny size.
His hand glided over her head. She raised her wet nose and touched his palm with it. The purrs arose again and the kitten settled as he started to pet her once more. He laughed as he ran his hand through fur so soft that it tickled his insides.
"I'll find you water first," he said. He left the room, closing the door so that she would not wander. He hurried to his kitchen, took a shallow bowl, and filled it with lukewarm water. He carried it back to his bedroom, opened the door, and closed it again.
She was still there where he had left her. He set the bowl beside her on the blanket, and she turned her head to get a sniff of it. Curious, she stood to get a through sniffing job done. Her nose touched the water, then she began to greedily lap at it. Russia was amazed that she was drinking in the first place, instantly setting herself on the water like a dehydrated dog. He was thankful for this, that she was getting the fluids she needed.
"I'll get you something to eat," Russia whispered, as though if he talked too loud he might distract her from drinking.
The fluff of a kitten backed away from the water, swiping her tongue once over her lips. Russia leaned over her, caressed her back, then kissed her gently.
He got up, and she looked up after him. Russia closed the door, then jogged back to the kitchen. He was surprised when a joyful meow greeted him. He looked down to see his dark-furred cat who had wonderful markings of white on his neck, paws, and on the underside of his tail. He had a large frame and was gorgeous with his long and well-groomed fur. Russia stopped to pet him, but first his cat smelled his hand thoroughly then stared up at him in wonderment.
"I found this little kitten outside," he explained. His cat trailed him as he went to the cupboard and took out his bag of cat food. "I want to give her some of your food."
Russia dropped a few kibbles from the bag in front of the cat. They were sucked in quickly, but this did not distract him. The cat followed Russia as he carried a bowl and the bag of cat food back to the room where he had left the kitten.
He opened the door and she greeted him with a high cry. She was still on the bed beside the water bowl, seemingly worn out after the storm and the short adventure on his bed.
Before Russia had set down the things, his cat leapt onto the bed and walked up to the kitten. She tilted her head back as the much larger cat dipped his broad head down to hers. They sniffed each other, accidentally touched noses, then Russia's cat swiftly curled around her. Russia felt lighthearted, proud of his cat's friendly disposition, as he poured kibble into a bowl. He slid it close to her so that she only had to sit up to reach inside. The other cat did not move to take her food; he in fact, readjusted himself so that he was closer to her, then he just lay there quietly.
"I will have to buy proper food for little kittens," Russia said as he pet both cats at the same time. "I'll try to be very fast."
Addressing his cat, he added, "Take care of her."
He left the door to the room open this time now that his cat had joined the kitten. He went back to the front, grabbed his wallet and car keys, and threw his winter wear back on. He locked the door on his way out then he drove to the nearest pet store.
Russia was excited once he arrived to the pet food aisle. There was all kinds of food, wet and dry, and in many flavors. He filled the basket with many packages of the wet food before collecting a bag of Whiskas. He made sure that all the bags had the label For Kittens on them. He felt giddy inside just to see the pictures of other kittens posed on the covers with curious faces. Right now his love for cats had expanded two-fold with the new addition he had at home. He grabbed special things for his own cat, a new food bowl, then hopped over to the toy section.
The display was overwhelming with its colourful items. He wanted to buy everything, not wanting the young cat to miss out on anything, and imagining his own cat purring and content with a new toy. He grabbed two fluff sticks, a package of mice, some jingly balls, and a few catnip bags. He found some more expensive toys: tunnels and a plastic ring track with a ball that could be pawed around it, all of which he added to the basket without hesitation.
He knew he needed to get a great scratching post. They were even more expensive than the toys had been, but he was sure they would love it. He looked for a tall one which had leveled beds so that both the cats could share. He picked it up with one arm once he had decided, then he went to the counter. The worker looked at him with raised eyebrows when he saw Russia carrying the huge scratching post easily by himself. He did not comment however, and scanned all of his items.
Russia regretted nothing, and became even more hyper from his excitement. He crammed everything into the car then stopped at another store to buy a laser pointer. He then came home, taking everything inside and putting it down by the door. As he locked the door behind him, his cat strolled up to him. When Russia saw him, he asked, "Where's the little kitten?"
Before he had even finished asking, his cat had turned around and was walking away on what seemed to be a pointed route. Russia followed him and soon he had been brought to the location of the litter box. The white and gray kitten seemed to have just hopped out of it, and now she was heading to him with her tail flopping side-to-side without control.
Russia praised his cat and scratched him between his ears. He mewed happily, then Russia gathered up the kitten.
"I have so many cool things for you guys," Russia chirped as he walked back to the front, trailed by his cat.
He stepped up to the scratching post and set the kitten onto a level, then he picked up his cat and put him on a higher one. The dark and glossy-furred cat looked down and watched Russia as he pulled out the toys from the bag. Soon enough, Russia put the toys in front of their faces to let them investigate. His cat took a catnip bag between his paws and began to lightly lick it while the kitten was already beginning to tap experimentally at the toy mouse Russia dangled above her head.
He put the food away, but the crinkling of the bags had attracted them. The kitten mewled and clawed at his leg while looking up at the things he was holding.
"I guess I did not give you so much," Russia admitted. He rinsed out the new bowl then opened up a package of wet food. The kitten was already licking her lips before the filled bowl of juicy chunks in broth was put down in front of her.
Russia put some treats in his hand then let his cat gobble them up. He left to move the scratching post into a room with a couch by a fireplace, where he thought the cats would be cozy and warm. He took the toys out of their packaging as well, and put them all in a pile.
When she stared over it all, he was struck by a thought that impaled his heart with sadness. He had bought all these things, yet he might not get to keep the kitten for so long.
She must have run out of the house, and her family must be sad. They will think she died out here. I'll have to search for them.
He bowed his head as his throat began to ache.
As long as the little kitten is healthy, safe, and happy, it doesn't matter if I am there or not. Her life is important, so I will not interfere and keep her from her family.
He thought about how friendly the kitten was to him, and how much his cat had taken to her. He was sad that he would eventually have to separate them.
Both the cats found him. His cat sensed his emotions, and meowed inquisitively before rubbing up against him. Russia squatted to spend some time smoothing out his ruff, then he put out a hand for the kitten to rub against.
I want to name her, Russia thought. But I am afraid that if I do, it will hurt more when I have to say goodbye.
Russia dragged the fluff toy along the ground. The kitten's eyes widened and she wiggled her bum once before launching into pursuit. His cat's eyes widened until they were shining black orbs in his fluffy face. He snuck around to Russia's other side, also interested in the toy. Russia laughed, but he was filled with painful happiness; his heart was shredded yet sticky with sweet honey.
The kitten overwhelmed the fluff with her entire body. His cat pawed at the stick, having nothing else to attack. Russia switched to the laser pointer, and soon both were tearing off together after the zooming red dot. They ran side-by-side, breaking off to complete their own attempts at leaping for the prey made of light. He loved and hurt to see how well they both played with each other, where the large cat tread carefully around the frangible kitten.
She's so fluffy, Russia mentally sighed. Sweet and nice. I like her a lot, and he does too.
Russia played with the cats for half an hour before he left to cook himself dinner. Now and then he checked on them, and found them crawling around the scratching post or climbing up it as though it was the room's sacred tree. He ate alone then fetched his laptop before he joined them all in the same room.
By now, it was getting late. There was enough time for him to watch a movie by himself. He searched the internet until he found something relaxing, a simple family movie that he had not yet seen. Russia sat down on the couch with a blanket over top of him, the movie starting to play on the coffee table in front of him.
Russia's cat was the first to see the blanket on him. He hopped onto the couch and crawled onto Russia's lap, kneading the spot with a content expression on his face. Russia stroked his silky fur as he curled into a ball. Then, Russia smiled as he saw the white and gray kitten leap onto the couch, looking over at them longingly. She came over slowly, unsure if she would be allowed.
She put her front paws on Russia's leg and looked for room. Russia's cat lifted his head and looked at her affably. She moved over Russia's left knee, but began to slide off the couch. The larger cat shifted close to Russia to give her the room she needed. She pressed right against his long fur, but he seemed to enjoy it greatly. Russia emitted an "aww" as he watched his cat lick the kitten on the head.
Russia pet her side, but was surprised once again to find another scar hidden under her fur. He pushed her fur out of the way and found a straight line that went over her lower ribs. It looked recently healed, still a little pink.
Worry flowed over him. Did… someone do this to this kitten? Then he was horrified. The scars were straight and precise. These weren't accidents.
Sorrow choked him now. He regarded the kitten under his hand, who was warm on his legs and purring from the attention of both the other cat and his owner.
Why would someone want to hurt something so small and innocent?
Imagining someone cutting the side and back of the kitten with a knife out of sheer desire hurt him. Russia felt a strong urge to cry, and he tried to force his tears back by stopping the horrible thoughts.
So, she must have been abandoned. She was not wanted; never loved.
She was so young, and Russia was amazed at how friendly she had been to them both. She was full of charm and loving spirit despite what had happened to her.
What a strong, forgiving kitten. Cute, small, and soft like a marshmallow, but very strong.
He did not want to look for her previous owner anymore. There was no longer any reason to ever have to take her from the happiness she had right now cuddling with him and his cat. They could stay together here at his large home, where she would be safe.
Russia continued to pet her, and he murmured, "I will take care of you, my sweet Marshmallow."
Russia's cat turned his head and gave his wrist a quick lap. Russia started to pet them both again, and his heart swelled with warmth as they purred.
Maybe no one will ever think that I am a hero like America, Russia thought, but there are other ways one can be a hero. I am happy with what I did today. To love and be loved… this is all I want and need in life.