Homeless (5 page)

“He’s only been gone a few hours,” Mr. Lake says. “I wouldn’t be worried yet.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say. “That’s pretty much what Dr. Mac said. Seeing the strays really scared me, though. What if we never find Socrates and he ends up living outside? What will he do when it snows?”

“Well, the size of that colony of strays should prove it’s a good place to live,” Mrs. Lake says as she passes the potato salad down to David. “I had no idea it was so large. I had heard that there were only a few cats there.”

“I wish we could rescue all of them,” I say. “I’d love to take one home.”

“I don’t think they need rescuing,” says Sage. “Those strays have survived without much help.”

“But they shouldn’t have to,” I say hotly. “It’s not fair for them to have to live like that.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” says Mr. Lake. “It can be hard to tell when it’s right for people to interfere in the life of a wild animal.”

“Assuming these cats are all feral,” Mrs. Lake adds.

“You say they are being fed by that boy and his sister. To me that means they aren’t really wild, they’re dependent on humans for food,” Mr. Lake says.

“Yeah, but what about the bears in Yellowstone National Park?” Sage says. He leans on the table. “They used to eat the garbage left behind by tourists. When the park made sure people cleaned up after themselves, the bears went back to their normal eating habits. They weren’t depending on the humans. They were just taking the easiest meal they could find. The cats are doing the same thing.”

“But cats are not bears,” Zoe says. “Cats are pets. I think Sunita is right. It’s not fair that they have to live like that. They all deserve something better.”

Brenna’s father pulls at his beard. “Now I’ll disagree with what Dr. Mac said on one point. There are some people who have brought feral cats into their homes and more or less domesticated them—made them into pets.”

“So I’m right,” I say.

Mr. Lake shakes his head slowly. “Not exactly. Even those ‘domesticated’ ferals are nervous around people. I know a woman who has done this a few times. She said it took her cat more than a year to get used to being in the same room as her. And it still won’t sit in her lap or let her pet it.”

“That sounds like Socrates,” Zoe says. “Maybe he’s really feral. The only people he lets near him are Sunita and Gran.”

Maggie points toward her cousin. “Wait a minute—that black cat, the one that fought with Socrates. She’s pregnant,” she explains to Brenna’s family. “What about her kittens? Will they be feral or tame?”

Brenna’s mother shrugs. “If they are raised outside, without people, they’ll be feral. That’s why feral cat colonies are such a problem. First you have cats that quickly reproduce, and second, they aren’t socialized as pets. There’s not much that can be done about them.”

“Except to round them up and kill them,” Brenna says bitterly.

“I know that sounds harsh, Brenna,” her father says gently. “But you’ve seen the results of overpopulation. When you have too many of one species in one place, nature takes care of it. They run out of food, the weak die. Putting them to sleep is much more humane.”

The table goes silent as everyone thinks about that.

“Actually, there is something that we can do for the cats,” I say. They all look at me. “Dr. Mac told me about it this afternoon. It’s called a TVSR program.”

By the time I finish explaining how the program works, we’ve cleared away the dishes and started on dessert.

“Dr. Mac promised she would talk to the Animal Control people tomorrow. That’s when they’re supposed to round up the cats.”

“I’ve never heard of TVSR, but it makes sense,” Mrs. Lake says. “And the animals are released back where they were found?”

“That’s what bothers me,” I say. “I hate the idea of forcing them to live on their own again. I want to find people to adopt them after they’ve been treated.”

Sage takes another brownie from the platter. “Wouldn’t work. You heard Dad. A wild animal is a wild animal.”

“What about Poe?” Brenna challenges him.

The two of them argue about whether Poe is wild or tame, but I’m not really listening. I’m still back on what Mr. Lake said about his friend who tamed a feral cat.

I’ll start with Tiger tomorrow. It’s just a matter of being patient, and I can be patient. Cats that were raised in the wild need extra love and understanding. Maybe Socrates was a feral kitten. Dr. Mac told me she found him wandering around the yard when he was tiny. I was able to win his heart. I can do the same with Tiger and the others—I’m sure of it.

I
’m a little late getting to the clinic. On Saturdays, I have an early ballet lesson, and today it ran long.

Walking up the sidewalk to the front door of the clinic, I feel as if something’s wrong. What is it? I changed out of my ballet clothes. Mother knows where I am. The clinic looks normal, even though there aren’t many clients’ cars parked in the driveway. What’s missing?

This is where he usually greets me. A lump grows in my throat, and I try to swallow it. Dr. Mac and Mrs. Lake both said he’d be home soon, but he’s not. If Maggie and Zoe have those flyers ready, we can spread them all over the neighborhood today. We’ll find him. We have to find him.

As I walk in, the others are clustered around the reception counter. Dr. Mac is trying to listen to the person on the other end of the telephone.

“Yes,” she says into the phone loudly. “Yes, we are missing a cat.”

Maggie jumps up and down. “Someone found Socrates!”

“Shh!” her grandmother says. “You live near the Fraziers?”

It has to be him!

“When can we pick him up?” Maggie asks.

“Is he OK?” I ask.

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Mac says. “What does the cat look like?” she asks the person on the other end of the line.

We wait. Dr. Mac nods once, twice.

“Are you sure?”

She’s not smiling anymore.

“Well, thank you for checking. I’m afraid it’s not ours. Good-bye.” She hangs up the phone and turns to us. My heart sinks.

“The cat she found is orange, but it’s small, about seven or eight pounds. It has white ears, and it’s a female. Sorry, it’s not Socrates.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we made these flyers after all,” Maggie says glumly. She waves a stack of neon yellow paper. Printed on the front is MISSING CAT and a picture of Socrates sitting on Dr. Mac’s desk.

“We’ll find him, don’t worry,” Dr. Mac says. “Let’s get in the van.”

It’s a quick drive to Dorset Street, the closest road to Cat Land. Dr. Mac tries to fill the silence in her car by telling us about the Animal Control officer we’ll be meeting.

“There he is,” she mutters as she parks along the street. A tall, slim man wearing a dark green shirt and matching pants is leaning over some papers on the hood of a red pickup truck with ANIMAL CONTROL painted on the door.

“Dr. MacKenzie,” he says as Dr. Mac walks over to shake his hand. The five of us trail behind her. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Good morning, Gary,” she says. “You’ve never met my granddaughters, have you? This is Maggie and this is Zoe, and behind them are some of my clinic volunteers—Sunita, Brenna, and David. Everyone, this is Gary Snyder.”

He looks puzzled at the sudden appearance of a veterinarian and five sixth-graders. We all say polite hellos.

Dr. Mac sticks her hands in the pockets of her blue jeans. “I must have left fifty messages on your answering machine late yesterday, Gary.”

“Sorry about that, Doc,” the Animal Control officer answers. “We were out on a bat call. A woman found a whole bunch of bats in her attic, and we had to get them out.” He shudders. “I don’t like bats. They give me the creeps.”

“Yech,” Zoe says with disgust.

“Bats are useful. They eat mosquitoes,” Brenna points out.

“I’ll just use bug spray, thanks,” Zoe says.

“It took a while, but we got them all out,” Gary continues. “I didn’t get a chance to check my messages. Sorry if you were trying to get me. What brings you out this way?” he asks Dr. Mac. “A house call?”

“Hardly,” Dr. Mac answers. “I think we’re here for the same reason.” She nods toward the railroad tracks and the clearing beyond. “Those cats.”

Gary frowns slightly. “Those are feral cats, Dr. MacKenzie. The neighbors here are in an uproar. I’ve got to take them out.”

“And do what with them?” Brenna asks hotly.

“I’ll take care of this, Brenna,” Dr. Mac says.

As she explains the TVSR program to Gary, I keep my fingers crossed behind my back. I hope he agrees to it. Dr. Mac told me in the van that if he says no, there is nothing more she can do. As an Animal Control officer, it’s his job to make decisions about the safety of people and animals.

Dr. Mac finishes her explanation. Gary glances up the street. No kids are outside playing yet.

“And who’s paying for all this?” he asks. “The cost of the vaccines, surgery, and medicine is going to add up quickly. You know there’s no extra money in my budget.”

Dr. Mac looks over at us. I cross my toes inside my sneakers.

“I won’t charge the county,” she says. “I’ll do it for free and consider it a contribution to the community.”

Gary rubs the back of his neck. “And they won’t be able to spread anything?”

“That’s right,” Dr. Mac says.

We all nod, five heads bobbing up and down in perfect rhythm.

Dr. Mac walks to the van and brings back a thick binder, which she hands to Gary.

“I put together some information for you. I figured you would want to read up on it yourself. These studies say that in areas where TVSR is being used, the cat population has decreased slowly and steadily. Some towns have reduced their feral cat population by half after running TVSR programs for a few years.”

“And you want me to release the cats back here?” Gary says. He doesn’t look convinced.

“The neighborhood association will have my head.”

“If the colony is removed, other feral cats will take it over and the neighbors will be at risk for disease again. TVSR works better. The statistics are very convincing. But you’ll have to do some educating. Have a meeting with the residents. I’d be happy to speak to them if you want.”

Gary flips through the pages in the notebook with a frown. I’m squeezing my crossed fingers and toes so hard they are getting numb.

“Please,” I say. “Please let us try this. These cats need our help. We could save their lives. Please.”

I swallow hard. I’m not used to speaking out like that, especially in front of Animal Control officers.

Gary takes a deep breath. “Well, I’ve always hated putting these guys to sleep. It’s not their fault.” He glances at the Fraziers’ house. “I’ll do it. We’ll try the program this one time, to see if it works. And I’ll set up a meeting to explain it to the neighbors. But if this doesn’t work, we’ll have to do it the other way. I won’t have a choice.”

“Thank you very much!” I say with a big grin.

“Thanks,” Dr. Mac says. “It will be good to work together.”

He places the binder on the front seat of his truck. “So we need to round up a bunch of them for you to take back, huh? Want to use my traps?”

“Traps?” I say. “We’re going to trap them? That sounds horrible. Won’t that hurt them?”

Gary laughs. “It’s not that kind of trap,” he says, reaching for something in the back of the pickup. “This is a humane trap. Let me show you how it works.”

The trap looks like a big cat carrier, but its sides can slide back and forth to hold the caged animal still, squeezing it gently when the vet is trying to give a shot.

“We usually have to give wild animals a sedative before we treat them,” Gary explains. “You would not believe the fuss they can put up.”

I’d put up a big fuss, too, if someone trapped me in a metal box, but I don’t say that. Once we get these cats taken care of, maybe I’ll design a better trap. That would be a great project for the school science fair.

Dr. Mac lifts her bandaged hand. “Wish I’d had one of those yesterday,” she says.

“We’ll make sure no one gets hurt,” Gary promises. “How many do you want to trap today?”

“I can handle about six at a time at the clinic,” Dr. Mac replies. “I brought some nice, smelly tuna to stick inside the traps.”

“That will bring them running,” he says. “I’ll start setting these up.”

Dr. Mac turns to us. “I don’t think this will take too long. Why don’t you start passing out flyers?”

“Sounds like a plan. C’mon, guys,” Maggie says.

“Is it OK if I stay to watch?” I ask Dr. Mac. “I might see Socrates.”

“All right, Sunita,” Dr. Mac says as she takes one of the traps out of Gary’s pickup. “You’ll be our observer. But you are here to watch, not touch. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.