Moth heard it just after supper.
A sound she had never heard before — *whoosh* — and then *splat* — and then something that sounded very much like giggling. Moth lifted her nose. She pricked both ears toward the dark garden. *Whoosh. Splat. Giggle.* This was suspicious.
Duff, the big orange cat on the porch, was watching a leaf spin past his nose. He did not look up. Duff never looked up. Duff was not a detective. Moth was.
She stepped off the porch into the blustery evening. The wind smelled of wet bark and cold mud. Leaves skittered across the path in small orange crowds. Moth put her nose low and followed the sound toward the side of the house.
*Whoosh. Splat. Giggle.* There it was again. Louder now. Moth moved carefully, one deliberate paw at a time, past the garden gate, past the old clay pot tipped sideways by the wind. Her whiskers twitched.
She rounded the corner — and stopped.
The downspout was gushing. Rain was pouring down it in great silver sheets, splashing into a deep pile of leaves at the bottom. Wet leaves, shining leaves, leaves heaped up as high as Moth's chin. The water drummed against them in a steady, rushing roar.
And shooting down that leaf-pile, fast as a falling acorn, was the smallest, wettest kitten Moth had ever seen. It hit the bottom with a *splat* and a spray of cold water — and laughed. Actually laughed. Then it climbed straight back up and did it again.
*Whoosh. Splat. Giggle.*
Moth sat very upright in the rain. She narrowed her pale eyes. She filed a mental report: *Unauthorized splashing. Suspect: Tiny. Evidence: everywhere.* She was just forming her verdict when the kitten came shooting down one more time — and landed directly on Moth's tail.
The kitten looked up. Its fur was plastered flat. Its ears were folded sideways with water. It had a wet leaf stuck to its nose. It looked, without question, completely delighted.
Moth looked down at it for a long moment. Her tail twitched once. Then she sat back, tucked her paws together, and watched.
*Whoosh. Splat. Giggle.* The kitten went up. *Whoosh. Splat. Giggle.* The kitten came down. Moth watched it four more times, very carefully, just to be certain she fully understood the situation. Rain dripped off the end of her nose. She did not move.
She understood the situation. The case was satisfactorily closed.
Moth stood up. She looked at the kitten. She turned and walked, steadily, back toward the porch light. After a moment, she heard four small wet paws pattering along behind her.
She led the kitten — Bo, she decided, because it was small and round and needed a name — up the porch steps and across to where Duff was still watching leaves. Duff looked down at Bo. Bo sneezed. Duff shifted sideways, just enough, and Bo pressed in against his warm orange side.
Moth stepped over both of them. She turned once. She curled into a neat, tight circle at the edge of the porch, her nose tucked under her tail, her whiskers perfectly still. The rain drummed on the roof above her. The downspout whooshed in the dark garden.
Moth blinked once, slowly.
Then her pale eyes closed.
