Contest Story- Operation: Kitty Save #4

Okay, here is the contest story I promised. This isn't the story I was going to write, I was going to write a fiction story but since the story I had in mind wasn't all worked out so I wrote a personal essay. Yes, this story actually DID happen and (sadly) it's one of the more exciting and memorable moments of my short life. Enjoy! (Critisim and questions are encouraged.)

“Did you hear that?” Kendle, my sister, asked. “It sounds like something’s up in the attic.”
“Probably rats,” I replied, working on a particularly hard problem from my Pre-Algebra homework. “I hate it when Mrs. Casillas gives us math homework on the weekends!”
“No, it sounds like mewing,” Kendle’s face lit up. “Do you think it’s another litter of kitties?”
“Wow, wouldn’t that be something! That would be litter number four!” I smiled, thinking about another bunch of cute kittens running around the backyard. “Of course, we shouldn’t get our hopes up too high.” It was too late though. Kendle and I were pros at saving kitties after rescuing three litters and we listened carefully, trying to track the kitties. After listening for a while we heard a noise that confirmed our hopes. Kitties were above the family room, in the attic where their mother left them.
“I’ll call the Rescue Squad!” I grabbed the phone and called my cousin Lance and his best friend, Dace. The two were home from college because of the weekend. Once they walked across the street from their house to ours, we began the operation.
“We’re going to have to go up into the attic,” instructed Lance, like a general to his troops. “Have any fallen into the walls?”
“Not yet,” I replied. “We don’t know how old they are, but I think they can walk around.” Everyone knew the urgency of the situation. Grandpa was getting tired of cutting holes in the wall each time a kitty fell down into one. He promised us that next time it happened he’d save the kitten then drown it in Kearny Lake. We weren’t sure if he was kidding or not, but we didn’t want to take any chances.
“Do you guys have a box?” Dace asked.
“Yeah, we have all the necessary equipment.” Kendle smiled as she held a box lined with towels.
After spending half an hour searching for a pair of flashlights, Lance and Dace climbed a ladder from the laundry room to the attic. Kendle and I heard them as they balanced across the beams, making sure to not fall thorough the ceiling. They searched every corner of the attic with the heavy-duty flashlights.
“They worst part is waiting!” Kendle exclaimed as we waited at the other end of the ladder, sitting on piles of dirty clothes. We began to nervously pace around. What if one of the kitties fell into the walls? That’s wasn’t the only dangerous factor. Being so close to the desert had proven to be a problem while raising kitties. Many kittens “disappeared” leaving heartache. Even though we had “rescued” 18 kittens only two that we knew of had survived, mostly because we had given them away to a lady who lovingly fed her cats cream. Would we rescue the kitties only to have them eaten by coyotes?
“We found them!” Dace yelled. Kendle and I squealed.
“How many?” I asked, crossing my fingers. The last three litters there were six kitties each time. Another six would be great!
“There’s only three right here, but we’re sure that there’s more. Are you guys ready for them?”
“Yeah,” I climbed up to the third step and grabbed the cute little bundles of fur that Dace handed to me, and then I passed them to Kendle. Dace and Lance tracked down the remaining two kitties and came down from the attic, covered in sweat and dust from the insulation. Even though it was barely the beginning of April, the temperature was already hot, typical for Kearny, Arizona. It was beginning to get dark, and I marveled at how fast the time had passed since we had discovered the kittens at about four in the afternoon.
We all sat down on the three couches that surrounded the coffee table with the box of kittens, two silver, two brown-black and one orange (all of them tabbies.)
“Here,” I passed out the four washcloths that that I had gotten from the kitchen. Everyone grabbed a kitty, Lance grabbed two, and we began to wash the them, admiring them (and washing off whatever was in the attic) for the first time. We each took turns with each kitty but soon found favorites.
Kendle found a kitty formula on the Internet that was made out of egg yolks, oil, and milk and put it into a makeshift bottle and a special cat bottle from the last time we had to hand-feed the kitties. We took turns feeding them, making sure that they ate as much as they could.
“Has anyone come up with any names?” I asked. Kitty naming was easily one of the most fun parts of raising kitties.
“No more Harry Potter names,” said Kendle. “Last time we named kitties after Harry Potter names they all died.” The mood quickly became somber. One of the kitties from the last litter was named Sirius. Unfortunately the kitty wouldn’t switch to dry food like the rest of the kittens and starved itself to death. Lance was the one to break the solemn atmosphere.
“How about Dragonball Z names?” Asked Lance. Dragonball Z was one of his favorite things.
“We did that last time, the results weren’t too good,” I laughed. The last litter, our Uncle John and Aunt Amy had given each kitty a Dragonball Z related name but some of the kitties were renamed after everyone opted for different names, most of them Harry Potter characters.
“We should name this one Shy Guy; it’s not as loud as the others,” Kendle suggested. The fluffy brown and black kitten in her arms was obviously her favorite.
We had gotten out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide to clean the kitties’ eyes. A bunch of gunk was coming from their eyes; we guessed that it was from the insulation in the attic. Dace was the best at removing the gunk so far. The rest of us were kind of scared that we’d hurt the kitties.
“This one’s name should be Houdini.” We laughed as the other black and brown kitty leaped from the box to Lance’s pant leg. As time went by we all suggested more names but finally agreed on: Carrot, Shy Guy, Houdini, Loudmouth, and Mittens. After Lance and Dace left, Kendle and I got out a heater from a closet and put the kitty box by it.
“Good-night kitties,” I smiled, realizing that the next couple of weeks would be busy while we all took care of the kittens, barely three weeks old. I knew that the kitties were safe for now and that even though we rescued them they still might die, but the important thing was that we tried our best. I switched off the lights and went downstairs to the basement. A day that started off to be a boring Saturday of homework turned out to be a rewarding rescue mission.