She tapped her cane into the puddle — and it moved.

The rain had just passed. The world still smelled like clouds and concrete. She walked slowly, her coat damp, tapping carefully — cane, step, breath. Then — a soft bump.

Something under the water. She froze. Bent down with effort.

A trembling kitten. Soaked, stuck in the drain lip. Eyes wide, body cold.

She didn’t hesitate. Wrapped him in her scarf, pressed him gently to her chest.

Later, neighbors watched as she fed him warm milk with hands that shook, but never dropped him.

They walked together now — old cane and small paws, side by side.

She named him Rainy. Not for the storm — but for what followed. Generated using Kling AI
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