Romochka growled before anyone else did, although his night vision was the worst and the others must have smelled it long before he did. Mamochka ignored him, plopped the child down and began to lick its face and hands. The two small sisters, Little Gold and Little Patch, tumbled and shoved around it. It began suddenly to sob and wail, thinly at first, then louder and through more jagged breaths. Everyone’s hackles rose. Even Romochka could smell the fear puffing into the dark lair from under their tails and necks. Romochka couldn’t settle. His skin prickled and itched. Fleas annoyed him more than usual. He snapped at Black Sister and drove even White Sister from him. Then he suffered until dawn, proud and furious, too cold to snooze. His Mamochka didn’t even look his way in the dark. Where have you been, Mamochka, he sent out in the dark. What have you done, bringing that here? He would have felt better if he had sensed her looking his way, answering, but no answer came to explain her betrayal.
