“Where has this brought us?” Xiaoshu crouched down, examining the earthen burrow closely. The opening was about the size of a basketball, deliberately blocked by stones, with clumps of weeds at the edge perfectly concealing the interior, making it invisible from a distance—excellent camouflage.

The civet walked to the opening, let out a few soft meows into the darkness, and then used its small paws to push aside the weeds. A rudimentary nest was immediately revealed to us.

The nest was crude, lacking the delicate weaving of a bird’s nest or the soft lining of a rabbit’s burrow. It possessed no provisions or equipment for warmth; it was simply a level patch of ground, which, without a mother civet lying upon it, could scarcely be called a den at all.

The mother civet lay there, heavily pregnant and listless, occasionally letting out a faint moan. A slight trace of blood had appeared near her hindquarters; she seemed poised to give birth but lacked the strength to complete the process.

It was clear the civet had brought us here hoping we could assist its companion in this difficult labor.

I had never kept a cat, much less attended one through birth, so I placed my hopes entirely on Xiaoshu, looking at him with a pleading expression. “Do you know how to assist a cat in difficult labor?”

Xiaoshu looked serious, gently shaking his head with a note of regret. “I’ve never raised a cat, or any other mammal for that matter. I don’t know how to handle complications during birth.”

Saying this, he turned to leave. Seeing him about to depart, the civet rushed over, biting down on his shoelace and looking at him with eyes full of entreaty. Animals possess a certain sentience; even in crisis, they seek aid. I recalled the forest fires in Australia a few years ago, and the photo of a firefighter feeding a baby koala water from a plastic bottle that went viral across the internet. Every time I saw that picture, a wave of emotion washed over me.

So, I tugged at Xiaoshu’s sleeve. “Wait a moment,” I urged him. “We can probably help them with something.” I then pulled a dry towel from my backpack—a last-minute inclusion from home that hadn't been used until now. It was about to prove useful. I folded the towel in half, cradling it in my right hand, and with my left, I gently lifted the mother civet’s head, slipping one end of the towel beneath her body. Then, carefully supporting her heavy hindquarters, I slid the towel fully underneath so her entire body rested upon it. Xiaoshu watched, and halfway through, he reached out to help me lift the mother civet slightly, assisting in placing the towel beneath her.

With the towel properly positioned, I took out the meager remains of bread from my pack, opened the plastic bag, and tore off a small piece, bringing it close to her mouth. The mother civet did not refuse. She shifted onto her side, managing to turn her neck, and swallowed the bread in two or three quick bites. After finishing, she lowered her head, gave me a sidelong glance, and meowed twice.

I then tore the rest of the bread into smaller pieces and gently offered them all to her mouth. Seeing the abundance, she struggled to roll over, dragged her swollen belly, squatted on the ground, and began eating large mouthfuls. I then produced my water flask and poured a small amount of the Water of the Dead Sea into the cap, setting it before her. The cat made no pretense of manners, occasionally pausing her eating to dip her head into the cap to drink. Within a few minutes, the bread and water were entirely consumed.

Throughout this entire time, the civet that had led us to the burrow remained crouched nearby, watching its companion with unwavering focus.

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