Another couple of minutes and he'd be late for his shift and that bastard Tollofson would write him up again. Still, Richie had to take a quick look at the engine. That screeching sound out on the highway did NOT sound good.
He popped the hood and saw the cat. He practically fell jumping back, would have fallen if the damned thing hadn't been dead.
The guys at work told stories about such things, but he'd never had an animal crawl into his car. It must have been looking for a place to sleep, and a warm engine block fit the bill.
Stupid cat, he thought. Why'd you have to do something like that? I didn't mean to start the day by hurting anybody.
When the cat lifted its head and mewed, he jumped again. It was in pain. Pain? Damned thing should be dead! It was then that Richie saw the rippling convulsions along its side, the straining of its legs.
Oh for God's sake, cat, don't you have any sense at all? Give birth on top of my engine? The fear of the drive must have done it, started the labor.
Richie stood, watching the cat for a moment. Then he opened the trunk and got out a work blanket, walked back to the hood and tucked the damned cat in. He closed it tight to keep the engine block's heat in.
He looked at his watch, swore, and ran for the door.