1860

Warren, now nine years old, sat in a chair in the Mother Superior's office. He'd been called into her office for fighting with another student in class that morning. His shirt was torn and stained with blood- most of it was the other boy's. He stared down at the floor, saying nothing. Waiting for the dressing down he knew was coming.

"Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?" She snapped, impatiently drumming her claws on the surface of her desk.

"I'm not sorry." Warren muttered under his breath. He kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to even look at her.

"What was that?!" The Mother Superior spluttered, her eyes going wide. Like she couldn't believe what she just heard.

"I said…I'm not sorry!" Warren growled. He sat up straighter in his chair, and glared defiantly at her. "And anyway, he started it! It ain't even my fault!" He retorted.

The Mother Superior sighed and rubbed at her temple. "Very well, Warren, why don't you tell me your side of the story?"

"William called me a runt, and said my Mom was a streetwalker." Warren said, crossing his arms against his chest. He blew out an annoyed huff. "Then he started beatin' me up, and I fought back." He remembered the satisfying feeling of his fist connecting with William's pink nose, and a fountain of blood gushing out.

"William a model of good behavior, and you would do well to learn from him." She scolded him. "And what did you do? You violently assaulted him and gave him a bloody nose!"

But Warren knew better. William, a young ginger cat with apple green eyes, was a little devil with the face of an angel.

"Yeah, and I'd do it again." Warren said, leaning back in his chair with a proud smile.

The Mother Superior just looked at him like he was a lost cause. "Warren, I know it was you who put tacks on Albert and Arthur's chairs last week." Albert and Arthur were William's lackeys, a pair of mischievous ragdoll twins. They loved tormenting Warren almost as much as William did.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Warren scoffed, playing the fool. But he had. Of course he had!

"Lying is a sin, you know." She shook her head. "Sometimes I worry for your soul…" she sighed heavily. "I want you to go to confession after Mass on Sunday. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mother Superior." Warren said, making a face.

"I've done all I can for you. You may go." The Mother Superior said, admitting defeat.

"Gee, thanks." Warren got up from his chair and scrambled toward the door.

"Oh, and Warren?"

"Yeah?" Warren froze in the office doorway.

"Consider yourself lucky it was me and not Sister Euphrasia. If she had to punish you, she'd cane you so hard you couldn't sit down."

Warren nodded weakly, his ears flattening against his head. "Haha, yeah. I did get lucky!" He said with a nervous smile, ducking out of the office. Sister Euphrasia was a bit of a sadist, and loved doling out canings and beatings to misbehaving children. Warren had only received her wrath once, and once was enough for him.

As he left the office, he found Sister Agnes sitting on a long wooden bench outside. She went to him and shook her head pityingly. "Fighting, again?" She asked, putting a gentle paw on Warren's shoulder.

Warren exhaled shakily. "Yeah." He admitted, hanging his head and shoving his paws in his pockets. All his boyish bravado melted away. He was too ashamed to look at her.

"Oh, Warren, what are we going to do with you?" Sister Agnes chided him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Together, they walked away from the Mother Superior's office and down the hall.

"I'm real sorry, Aggie." Warren said quietly as they walked. Sister Agnes was the closest thing he had to a mother, and he'd let her down. Again. "But William started it. I swear!"

"I believe you." Sister Agnes said gently. But there was pain in her eyes. Warren could read her face like a book, and it said: I'm ashamed of you.

They didn't speak the rest of the way to Warren's room- which he shared with several other nine-year-olds. After Warren brushed his teeth in the washroom, and changed into his nightshirt, he got settled in bed. Warren lay in his rickety metal bed, with only a thin, scratchy wool blanket over him. Sister Agnes sat in a chair beside his bed.

"Aggie, will you tell me about the night you found me?" Warren asked, giving her a pleading look. Anything to change the subject.

Sister Agnes chuckled. "You ask for that story every night…"

"Yeah, well it's my favorite story!" He shot back, leaning back against the single pillow.

"Oh, all right…I suppose one more time can't hurt." Sister Agnes cleared her throat, and launched into the story: "It was a cold night in January. One of the coldest nights I can remember. I went outside to find someone had left a bundle on the front steps, and it was mewling."

Warren laughed. "It was me."

Sister Agnes smiled fondly as she remembered. "Yes, it was. I picked up the bundle, and saw the tiniest kitten I've ever seen. He was so small and frail, and his eyes were still fused shut. Of course I ran inside and brought him out of the cold. I gave him a bottle of warm milk to drink, then I put him to bed. The kitten's name was Warren, and his mother abandoned him because she couldn't take care of him anymore. He was a foundling, like so many of the children here. Warren was a very sickly, weak baby. At first, no one knew if he would survive. But he did survive, and grew up into a happy, healthy little boy."

"You left out the best part." Warren pouted.

Sister Agnes raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And that is?"

"You gave me a chance when no one else did. All the other sisters thought I would die."

"That's right, I did." Sister Agnes said with a smile, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Will I ever get adopted?" Warren asked, pulling the blankets more tightly around him, and shooting her an expectant look.

She hesitated a moment, then exhaled deeply. "I don't know. I hope so. Oh, Warren, there must be a family for you somewhere…"

"I don't want a Mom and Dad. I want you." Warren protested.

"Sweetheart we've been over this." She said, firmly but gently. "When I took a vow of chastity, that meant I can't have children. Not even adopted children. You know I love you very much, but I'm not your mother."

"I wish I had a mom like you." He said sadly, giving her his best pleading look.

"I know. God willing, someday you will. Goodnight, Warren." Sister Agnes pressed a kiss to Warren's forehead, then blew out the candle on his small nightstand. Plunging the room into darkness.

"Goodnight, Aggie." Warren said into the darkness. The cold, dark room seemed to go on forever. He heard her soft footsteps creep away, and then they were gone.

Warren couldn't sleep that night. He shifted position several times, but nothing seemed to help. Sister Agnes' words echoed in his mind: I love you very much, but I'm not your mother…No, she wasn't his mother, and she never would be. Warren pulled back the blanket, very carefully got out of bed, and tiptoed across the room- he didn't want to wake his roommates.

Warren crossed the room to the window, and threw it open. A cool spring breeze blew into the room. He peered down at the city below. The streets were quiet, deserted. There weren't many humans walking around this late at night. And even fewer horse-drawn carts and carriages. Then, he looked up at the night sky. The sky was filled with twinkling stars that shone with diamonds. Once, he had seen a few girls wishing on a star.

They had chanted: "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might. Have this wish I wish tonight."

He didn't know what they wished for. Then they'd noticed Warren peeking in the doorway, eavesdropping on them, and screamed at him to get out of their room.

Warren was almost ten. He was getting a little too old for things like wishing on stars. But he could always pray. As Sister Agnes told him at a very young age: "You can always talk to God about your troubles." So he did.

Staring out at the night sky, he clasped both paws in prayer, and said: "God, it's me, Warren. Look, I don't know if you're even listenin', but…Can you please send me a mother? A real mother? I, uh, I've never had one."

And then Warren thought of his birth mother. Unlike some kids, he didn't remember her at all. She'd abandoned him when he was just a baby. She hadn't even left him a locket with her picture in it, or some other pretty trinket to remember her by. He wondered if she was out there in the big, lonely city. Did she look like him? Was she married? Did she have other children? He would probably never know.

He wondered why she left him on those orphanage steps. But that was another question he might never have answers to. Feeling tears trickle down his cheeks, he reached up to wipe them away. Thank God no one had seen him cry. He didn't want to earn a new nickname- baby. Wondering if God heard him in some distant, heavenly realm, Warren quietly shut the window and went back to bed.

Weeks passed. The weeks turned into months. Warren prayed almost every night for God to give him a mother. And his prayer still went unanswered. He felt bitterly disappointed and deeply alone. William, Albert and Arthur still bullied him and called him names, but it was different now. At least now he could fight back and defend himself. William was bigger and stronger than him, but Warren always got in a few well-aimed punches and bruises.

One day, while walking home from a trip to the park, Warren noticed a cat drop his wallet. He was a rich man, wearing a tailored three-piece suit, a black stovepipe hat, and carrying a gold-topped walking cane. Warren pounced on the wallet and picked it up- before someone else could.

"Hey, Mister! You dropped this…" he called, his voice trailing off.

But the wallet's owner was too far away to hear. Warren's paws shook a little as he held the wallet. He couldn't believe what he was holding. It was made of soft brown leather, and bulged with gold and silver coins. Suddenly an idea came to him, and he smiled to himself. He shoved the wallet into his pants pocket, and disappeared into the crowd, whistling a cheerful tune. That guy's so rich he won't even miss it! He thought.

Back at the orphanage, Warren waited until he was alone in his room. Then, he hid the wallet under his mattress. One of his roommates, Percy, was a tattletale who would squeal to the nuns. They'd confiscate the wallet, and then he would lose his money. His money. Sitting on the side of his bed, he felt a small rush of excitement just thinking about it. Warren had never owned money in his nine years of living. He did all his chores, like making his bed, changing the sheets, and cleaning his room, but he wasn't paid for it. The nuns didn't give out allowances.

That night, while everyone else was asleep, Warren took the wallet out, and counted the money by candlelight. He counted out twenty dollars. Twenty dollars! His eyes widened, and his heart began beating a little faster. He felt rich beyond his wildest dreams. Not even that asshole William had this much money. He had twenty whole dollars, and he could spend it on books, toys, candy, anything he wanted…When he was done counting the money, Warren carefully slid the wallet back under his mattress. He couldn't let anyone see it, or he'd really be in trouble.

But he fell asleep with a smile on his face.