Its eyes opened when the girl approached.
She pressed both hands against the glass.
“Hi.”
The biker stood behind her.
The kitten blinked.
The child looked toward him.
“Does he hate motorcycles now?”
The biker smiled.
“Probably.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“So he won't go under them.”
Fair enough.
The veterinarian explained that the kitten would remain for observation.
Animal control would temporarily take custody because it was part of a criminal case.
The little girl's face fell.
“Can I have him?”
Her grandmother answered:
“You already know our apartment doesn't allow pets.”
The girl looked devastated.
The biker heard himself speak before thinking.
“I'll take him.”
Everyone turned.
The biker frowned.
Apparently he had surprised himself too.
The grandmother said:
“You?”
“Maybe.”
“You have cats?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
The veterinarian smiled.
“Do you know anything about kittens?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
The biker looked through the glass.
The animal's ears seemed too big for its head.
“Apparently I own the motorcycle that almost killed him.”
“That isn't a reason.”
The little girl turned.
“Yes, it is.”
The veterinarian laughed.
Paperwork would take time.
But within a week, after police and animal control cleared the release, the kitten moved into the biker's house.
His club never let him recover socially.
A photograph circulated privately of the gray kitten sleeping inside the biker's leather vest while he sat in a recliner pretending to be annoyed.
Someone captioned it:
MOST FEARED MAN IN THE COUNTY.
The biker threatened several friendships.
Nobody cared.
The Harley went to a professional paint shop.
The estimate was painful.
The store's liability insurer offered assistance because the bucket had come from its outdoor discounted merchandise area, although nobody argued the store caused the incident.
The biker declined the little girl's family offering to pay.
Her grandmother insisted.
He refused.
The girl sent him twelve dollars and forty-three cents anyway.
Coins.
Folded bills.
Everything from her savings jar.
Inside the envelope was a Hello Kitty note.
FOR THE RED BIKE. SORRY.
He returned the money.
He kept the note.
Three weeks after the incident, a juvenile services representative called.
The biker was asked whether he would submit a written statement.
“Yes.”
“How has the incident affected you?”
The question irritated him.
“My motorcycle got painted.”
“The animal incident.”
“That didn't happen to me.”
“Your property was used.”
“A kitten got tied to a machine.”
The representative waited.
The biker continued.
“A nine-year-old girl thought she had to destroy something expensive to stop a living thing from getting crushed.”
Silence.
“That affected me.”
The representative asked:
“What outcome are you seeking?”
The biker answered too quickly.
“Consequences.”
“What kind?”
He stopped.
That was harder.
“I don't know.”
“Detention?”
“Maybe.”
“Treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Restitution?”
“For what?”
“Any costs associated with investigation or damage linked to his actions.”