Kane's ears wiggled. So did Ginger's. Their gazes laser-focused on the Squeaker.
He was teetering.
And Kane's Dad Instincts kicked in.
He dove for the countertop just as the Squeaker toppled over. Down, down he fell from the high shelf--into the soft, springy fur of Kane's neck. The air wheezed out of him--the little fella was heavier than he looked--but he looked unharmed.
The same couldn't be said of his pride.
The little Squeaker let loose with a burbling, frightened stream of tearful squeaks. Kane gently set him on the floor and gave him an affectionate lick.
"There there, li'l fella," he said. "It's alright. Where's yer parents, kiddo?"