Homeless (6 page)

We cross over the railroad tracks to Cat Land. It’s deserted, but I can feel the eyes watching us from the tall grass.

A curtain moves in the Fraziers’ window, but I can’t see who is watching us. I wish I could go in and explain to Jamie what we’re doing, but his mom might not understand. I hope his mom goes to Gary’s meeting.

“Sunita, why don’t you sit over there?” Dr. Mac says as Gary sets up the traps. She points to some broken slabs of concrete piled at the edge of the clearing.

Gary nods to Dr. Mac. The traps are all set. The two of them walk to the opposite side of the clearing and crouch down out of sight. I sit as still as a mouse.

It takes a few minutes, but the cats appear, slinking out of the weeds and slithering out of the boxcar, their noses twitching in the air, trying to trace that tantalizing tuna smell. We saw a lot of these cats yesterday—the gray with the broken tail, the black-and-white young cats. But no Socrates. They circle the traps warily. I bet they suspect something is wrong. Will they go inside the funny-looking things for a treat?

Something brushes by my hand. A fly. I flick my hand to make it go away. It lands again, tickles my hand. I look down.

Oh, my gosh. There she is, sitting right next to me—Mittens, the soon-to-be mom cat that fought with Socrates! I glance around quickly, but there’s no sign of our feisty orange clinic cat. I just know he followed her here after their fight. Maybe he’ll come out, too, if he smells that tuna.

Mittens tilts her black head back and looks me in the eye. I bet I know what she’s thinking—
Where have you been? I’ve been waiting.

I squint. Hidden under the fur on her neck is a black flea collar. Wait—that means Mittens isn’t a feral cat after all. She was abandoned! She used to have people who loved her, and now she’s all alone. She’s not wild, she’s domesticated—a house cat who wants to live inside and sleep on bedspreads. She’s safe.

I know Dr. Mac told me not to touch any of these cats, but I can’t help myself. Mittens is probably used to people. Will she let me touch her? She won’t scratch me, I just know it. I reach my fingers out slowly.

Mittens bumps her head against my hand.

She likes me!

I scratch between her ears and she starts to purr. She rubs the edge of her mouth against my knuckles. This is great! I wish I could pick her up.

A trap in the clearing swings shut, locking a cat inside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three more traps close.

Mittens looks around, not sure what to do. The trapped cats howl in outrage, and Mittens runs off before I can stop her, disappearing into that green tangle of bushes and weeds. I’ll never find her in there.

B
ack at the clinic, Dr. Mac warns me to stand at the far end of the room before she starts to treat the first cat. I think she’s being too careful. The cat is in a cage, after all. But I do what she tells me.

She sedates him, just like she did Tiger, but it is a lot easier to do with the special Animal Control cage. The cat protests with a loud “me-oww!” but quickly relaxes as the medicine takes effect. Dr. Mac relaxes then, too.

“OK, you can come closer if you want,” she says. “He’s not going anywhere for a while.” She opens the trap and lifts out our patient. “On second thought, you may not want to come closer—this cat is crawling with fleas.”

Our first TVSR patient is a scrawny, light gray male cat. Dr. Mac quickly checks his heart, lungs, and temperature, and feels his body for bumps or bone problems. She peeks in his mouth.

“Whew! Bad breath. I bet he has an infection in there somewhere. We’ll deal with that under anesthetic. Can you get me a tube of antiseptic cream?”

I bring the cream and some gauze, too.

Dr. Mac squeezes the cream onto the gauze pad and gently wipes it on an infected, swollen paw. “That will feel better when you come around,” she murmurs.

“Is that all you have to do?” I ask.

“I wish it were, but it’s not.”

Once the paw is cleaned up, Dr. Mac draws blood for tests and vaccinates the cat for rabies and other cat diseases. She adds a long-acting antibiotic injection to fight off infection. Then she sprays on a flea killer.

“I’ll operate on him once he’s hydrated,” she says. “We’ll neuter him so he won’t father any kittens. As soon as he’s recovered, we’ll take him back to where we found him.”

“Do you have to?” I ask. “Maybe he’ll get used to people if he’s around us.”

“Believe me, after three days living here, he’ll be more than ready to leave.”

Dr. Mac wraps the cat in a towel and hands him to me. “Why don’t you tuck him in for me? Put him in the row of cages in the corner. I’ll go fetch the next feral patient.”

After I put the sedated cat in a cage, I peek in on Tiger. He is wide awake today, his ears twitching as he watches me carefully.

Dr. Gabe, the clinic’s associate vet, walks in holding an injured parrot. “Don’t get too close to that cat,” he warns. “Tiger there has quite a reach!”

“He looks a lot better,” I say.

“I’ll say.” Dr. Gabe chuckles.

He opens the door to a birdcage. “Now stay in there and take it easy,” he tells the parrot. “You are not a dog. You should not be attacking the mailman.”

The parrot steps off his arm and onto the perch.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

“He keeps flying into the window in his family’s living room whenever the mailman walks up the sidewalk. We thought he might have a broken wing, but the X-ray was negative. His folks will be picking him up soon. My prescription is to either move his cage or close the curtains.” He pauses. “I was going to tell you something. What was it?”

“Tiger?” I suggest.

He snaps his fingers. “Exactly. You should see the hole he put in my lab coat! That cat has claws of steel and a wicked temper.”

I peer in through the metal bars of Tiger’s cage. He is sitting with his front paws tucked under him. The I.V. is gone. That means he has enough fluids in his body. He looks a lot better than he did yesterday. Dr. Mac must have bathed and groomed him while he was under the anesthetic for surgery. He almost looks like a different cat. He sure sounds like one—he’s purring a happy tune. I can just imagine what he would look like stretched out on my bed.

“All right, I’m outta here,” Dr. Gabe says.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Out to Lucas Quinn’s stables. He has a horse with an injured hoof.” He peers into the parrot’s cage. “At least he didn’t get it trying to scare away the mailman,” he tells the bird.

“Br-awk! Fresh boy! Fresh boy!” the parrot squawks as Dr. Gabe heads out the door. When the door closes behind him, Tiger starts to talk to me.

“Mee-row!” he wails.

I know Dr. Mac told us not to touch any of the strays, but I can’t help it. Mittens was so friendly to me at Cat Land. I know Tiger will be, too. Now’s my chance to get to know him.

I reach out my hand toward the cage a little. Tiger sniffs the air, then he pulls himself forward until his head is up against the bars. He presses his nose against them so he can smell my fingers. I figure that’s a good sign—he wants to be friends.

“Meee-ow!”

What a pitiful sound. He’s so lonely!

Part of me knows this is wrong, but I can’t help it. Tiger needs some love. Mittens let me pet her—she stayed perfectly calm. Tiger is still recovering from his injury. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t hurt me.

I unhook the latch and open the cage door a tiny bit. Tiger doesn’t move. I open it a bit farther and slip my hand inside. He leans forward so I can scratch his head. He’s purring louder. I’ll just pet him a bit, then close the cage.

“That’s a good kitty. I’m not going to hurt you.” I move my fingertips down the back of his head. Socrates loves to be scratched like this.

Tiger stops in mid-purr, whips his head around quickly, and locks his teeth on my hand between my thumb and first finger. He bites me hard!

“Ouch!” I shout. “Let go!”

I shake my hand to get him to release it. He pulls back and I slam the door closed and hook the latch.

I’m shaking. I’ve never been bitten before. The bite is deep and bloody and really, really hurts! The tears come, I can’t stop them. In his cage, Tiger licks his front paw as if nothing has happened.

“Sunita!” Dr. Gabe calls as he runs up the hall. “Are you OK? I thought I heard a shout.”

“I’m OK,” I say, trying to control my voice and hide my hand.

“What happened? Tell me.”

Even if it’s going to get me in trouble, I have to show him. I sniff and hold out my hand.

“Oh, no.” He grabs some paper towels to clean up the blood. “Tiger?”

“Tiger,” I admit. I use my good hand to wipe the tears off my face. My hand is throbbing, and it feels really hot.

He quickly slips on a pair of latex gloves, then washes the wound over the sink.

“We’re going to have to call your parents,” he says as he pours antiseptic on it. “Sorry if this hurts. We have to kill the germs.”

“Oh, no, please don’t. I mean, don’t call my parents. I’ll be fine, really. Just give me a Band-Aid. My mother already hates cats. If she sees this, she’ll never let me near one again!”

Dr. Gabe turns off the water and dries my hand.

“You don’t understand,” he says gravely. “Animal bites have to be checked out by a doctor. A people doctor. You have to go to the hospital, Sunita. Right now.”

M
y parents rush through the door of County General Hospital’s emergency room. They look around frantically, then spot Dr. Mac and me near the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, Sunita!” Mother runs to me, throws her arms around me for a tight hug, then steps back so she can see me. “Show me.”

Daddy hugs me, too, and kisses my forehead. “Let’s see.”

I slowly lift my arm to show them my red, swollen hand. Mother gasps.

“It’s—it’s not that bad,” I stammer.

Daddy takes the hand gently in his. “It’s deep,” he says, frowning.

“It’s just a little bite,” I say. “Don’t get upset.”

My parents are usually calm during medical emergencies. Daddy is a cardiologist, a heart doctor, and Mother is an orthopedist. She takes care of broken bones. They’re both used to being around injured and sick people.

One time we came across an accident on the highway, and they helped pull two people out of a car, then gave them artificial respiration until the ambulance arrived. That didn’t bother them at all. But now they both look pale and very worried. I guess when the injured patient is your own kid, you feel a little different.

“They said a doctor will see her in a minute,” Dr. Mac says.

“How did this happen, Dr. MacKenzie?” Mother asks.

“It was all my fault,” I interrupt. “Please don’t blame Dr. Mac. She warned me to stay away from the wild cats.”

“A wild cat caused this?” Mother asks, her voice going up. “A cougar?”

“No,” I say. “It was Tiger.”

“You were bitten by a tiger?” Mother says loudly. Other people turn to stare at us.

“Not a tiger. Not a cougar. A feral cat,” Dr. Mac says quickly. “The same as a domestic house cat, but raised without any human contact so it has reverted to a state of wildness. We’ve just started a program to vaccinate and spay a colony of feral cats, and we have a few in the clinic. One of them bit Sunita.”

“It was completely my fault,” I repeat. The last thing I want is for Mother to tell me I can’t go to the clinic anymore. “I didn’t think it would hurt me. It was purring.”

Mother doesn’t look like she’s listening. I think I can forget about ever getting a cat of my own.

“I’ll be happy to talk to the doctor who examines her,” Dr. Mac says. “Along with an antibiotic, she should be treated for rabies exposure.”

“Rabies?” Mother repeats, eyes wide.

Oh, no.

“Dr. Patel. Dr. Patel?” the receptionist calls from the end of the room. “We can see Sunita now.”

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Dr. Mac says to me. There is no spark in her eyes. I know she feels responsible, even though she’s not. “Gary will be here soon. I’ll fill him in on what happened.”

I’m not sure why he’s coming, but I’ll have to ask later. Time to see the doctor.