I had to clean out the drain of a very large shower room, like something you’d find in a school gym locker room. The drain hole was big, a circle eight or nine inches across, and it had no grate or screen. There were several big cups, red plastic, like the cap of a spray can but the size of a child’s sand bucket. I pulled them out, and I could see the drain full of water.
Then I saw, floating in the drain, a black and white, long-furred kitten. Its blue eyes were open wide, and I thought it was dead. But then it moved, turned over and began to swim away, under the floor. I grabbed it by the back feet and pulled it out. It sat, slowly drying off, a kitten about as big as my hand. I wanted to keep it, but I wondered if I could, or should, because of the cats I already had.