Authors: Laurie Halse Anderson

Homeless (8 page)

BOOK: Homeless

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“What does Dr. Mac think?” I ask.

“Gran is worried,” Maggie says. “He’s never been gone this long. Somebody could have taken him in, I guess. Or he could be sick—he could have been hit by a—”

“Don’t say it!” I interrupt. “I agree with Brenna. Socrates is coming back. We have to be positive.”

“Tell us about the hospital,” Zoe says. “What did they do to you?”

I tell them all about my trip to the emergency room, trying to make it seem like the shots were no big deal.

“It was very serious,” Mother says, contradicting me. “We’re keeping Sunita home from school for a few days.”

This is silly. I don’t need to recover from anything, but Mother and Daddy decided this during the car ride home from the hospital.

“When will she be able to come to the clinic?” Maggie asks.

Mother hesitates, not meeting my eyes. “We need to talk about it.”

I shake my head slightly, telling my friends to let it go. “How’s Tiger and the other cats from Cat Land?”

Maggie grins. “Loud. Gran and Dr. Gabe operated on all of them last night, and by breakfast time they were feeling well enough to howl. And Sherlock Holmes feels like he has to compete. No dumb bat can make more noise than he can!”

I smiled, thinking of Maggie’s basset hound surrounded by a roomful of howling cats.

“It gave me a migraine headache,” Zoe says solemnly.

“Did not!” her cousin says, pushing her playfully. “Anyway, they go back to Cat Land on Wednesday, and we’ll pick up the next batch. I think Gran really likes doing this.”

“Some of the cats are strays,” I tell my mother. “Abandoned—isn’t that awful? We’d really like to find good homes for them.”

“How nice,” Mother says flatly. Not the response I was hoping for.

“Mommy, Mommy, can we go now?” Jasmine calls from the kitchen.

Mother glances at her watch. “I promised to take them to the playground,” she says. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

“Can I come with you?” I ask.

“No. You stay right there on the couch and rest,” Mother says.

“We should go, too,” Brenna says. “We promised Dr. Mac we wouldn’t bug you.”

“You’re not a bother at all,” Mother says. “It was very nice of you to come over. I’m glad Sunita has friends like you.”

“Thanks. Well, we better go,” Maggie says awkwardly.

“Don’t let Dr. Mac give my job to anyone else,” I say, half-joking, half-serious.

“You know she won’t,” David says.

My friends file out the door waving and calling good-bye, followed by Mother, Harshil, and Jasmine. I move the living-room couch so I can look out the front windows and watch them leave. Maggie and the others walk in the direction of the clinic, while Mother and the twins grow smaller and smaller as they walk toward Main Street.

I lie down on the soft cushions. I’m kind of tired. Maybe I should take a nap. I wish I had Socrates with me now. He’d climb on top of my stomach, circle twice, then plop down, purring loudly. That would make me feel better.

I try to sleep, but I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I remember what it felt like to be trapped—the look in Tiger’s eyes, the look in that baby fox’s eyes. I hate this feeling.

I was wrong. There is no way I can turn a feral cat into a pet. If a cat has been raised in the wild, then it is a wild animal. We can do our best to make wild cats safe and prevent them from having kittens, but we can’t make them into friendly pets.

The worst thing is that my hope of convincing Mother to let me get a cat was totally ruined the second Tiger bit me. I don’t know how I’m going to get her to change her mind about cats now.

I wish Dr. Mac had some information I could give mother. When she gave the TVSR binder to the Animal Control officer, it made a huge difference.

I fluff a pillow, lie down, and sit up suddenly.

That’s it! I don’t need Dr. Mac to gather the information for me. I’ll write the book myself.

Chapter Eleven

E
ven though I feel perfectly fine on Monday morning (no more nightmares!), Mother and Daddy still want me to stay home. I spent two hours convincing them to let me keep volunteering at the clinic, so I’m not going to argue about staying home another day. We’re all tired of arguing.

After breakfast I go back up to my room and turn on the computer. It is time to do some serious research. I look for articles about why cats make great pets. I also search for feral cats, wild cats, and anything else I can find to help my case. I even find more information about rabies—what the symptoms are, what animals get infected the most, and other useful bits of information that should help.

It takes two days of typing, but by bedtime on Tuesday, it’s ready: a thirty-two-page report, complete with a table of contents, bibliography, and cover page with fancy graphics. I call it “Why Cats Are Great.”

As I kiss Mother good night, I set the report on the couch next to her.

“What’s this?” she asks. “You don’t have a report due at school, do you?”

I shake my head. “You could call this extra credit.”

She opens it and scans the table of contents. “Sunita, this is not the time to ask for a cat again, not after what you’ve been through,” she warns.

“Just read it. Please,” I answer. “Even after being bitten, I want a cat more than anything. I wish I could make you understand how they make me feel. It’s like . . . they understand me. And I understand them.” I glance at the bandage on my hand. “Most of the time. Mother, this means a lot to me. Please read what I’ve written.”

Mother sighs. “You never give up, do you? Well, determination is a very good trait. It got me through medical school. OK, I promise I’ll read your report. Now get to bed. Tomorrow is a school day.”

Thank goodness for that!

I love school. Some people might think that’s weird, but I don’t care. I love doing science experiments, getting math problems right, learning about history, and checking out big piles of books from the library. Gym isn’t my favorite class in the world, but you can’t have everything.

Wednesday just flies by. I have to repeat the story of what happened with Tiger about fifty million times to my classmates and teachers. It doesn’t help that my parents made me wear the bandage, even though the swelling around the bite has gone down and it looks better.

Before I know it, the last bell of the day rings, and it’s time to go to Dr. Mac’s Place.

“We’re back here,” Dr. Mac calls.

“You go see what they’re doing, Sunita,” Maggie says. “I have to study for a math test.”

The others head for the normal after-school chores—cleaning, organizing, and making sure the cupboards are stocked with supplies. I set my backpack behind the receptionist’s counter and walk down the hall.

I knock on the door to the recovery room. “Can I come in?”

“All clear,” calls Dr. Mac.

As I open the door, both Dr. Mac and Dr. Gabe are removing the thick mitts they use for handling the feral cats. Six TVSR patients are prowling inside traveling cages lined up on the examination table.

“I’m back,” I say.

“Good, we need you,” Dr. Mac says warmly. “You are just in time to say good-bye to our first TVSR graduates. Gary Snyder should be here soon to pick them up.”

“Didn’t know if we would see you again,” teases Dr. Gabe. “Not after you’ve had a taste of stardom. I cut out the newspaper article about you,” he says, grinning. “Sheesh—maybe I should let one of these guys take a taste of me. Then I could see my name in print, too.”

“No, you don’t want that,” I say. “Trust me. And I wish they hadn’t written that story at all. It made it sound like all the stray cats are really dangerous.”

“The reporter had all the facts correct,” Dr. Mac points out.

“Yeah, I know,” I admit. “But I still didn’t like it. Any news on Socrates?”

Dr. Mac shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s like he boarded a bus and left town. But we’re keeping our hopes up. You should, too.”

“I’ll try,” I say. “What about Tiger? Where is he?”

“We have him in a quarantine cage upstairs in Dr. Mac’s bathroom,” Dr. Gabe explains. “She’s the only person allowed near him.”

“Is he feeling better?” I ask.

“His leg is healing quickly,” Dr. Mac says. “No sign of rabies, either. He’ll be ready for release as soon as Animal Control lifts the quarantine.”

“That’s in six more days, right? Next Tuesday?” I ask.

“You got it,” Dr. Mac says as she lifts a traveling cage up onto the exam table. The light gray cat inside meows and paces nervously. There’s a small notch in his left ear. That will let others know that he’s been vaccinated. “How about you—how do you feel?”

“My shoulders are sore from the shots, and my hand still hurts, but it’s a lot better than it was.”

“I knew a guy who had to get rabies shots once because he was bitten by his own cat,” Dr. Gabe says as he hands a file folder to Dr. Mac. “The cat hadn’t been vaccinated, and since she was allowed to wander around outside, the doctor said the guy was at risk. You better believe that cat has gotten her shots every year since then.”

Dr. Mac looks up from the file. “I’m always surprised at how many people ignore the reminder cards I send out. It’s the law, you know—all cats and dogs have to be vaccinated. Maybe that article will inspire a few of them to get on the ball and bring their pets in. Let’s hope so.”

She pauses to close the file. “I think I’ll devote my next newspaper column to it. In the meantime, Sunita, I want you and the other kids to go through the patient files and make a list of who is overdue for their rabies vaccination. It’s time for some gentle reminders.”

The kitchen is the best part of Dr. Mac’s house. It’s so big she has a couch in it. There’s also a giant fireplace at the far end of the table. I hope she lights a fire in it this winter. That would be really cozy.

It’s almost the perfect picture, the five of us working together around Dr. Mac’s kitchen table, with Sherlock dozing under the table and Sneakers, Zoe’s puppy, trying to wake him up.

Almost perfect. We’re missing one very important cat. The room feels cold without Socrates here. I really miss him. Everyone does, even Sherlock. Maggie says he keeps sniffing all over the house, but he can’t find the missing cat.

“Dr. Mac said there’s no sign of Socrates,” I say.

Zoe glances at the others, then shakes her head sadly. “He’s vanished.”

“I think someone took him in,” Brenna says.

“But he has an identification collar,” Zoe argues. “They would have called.”

We sit in glum silence staring at the pile of folders. We can’t give up yet. When I was doing the research for Mother, I read about cats that traveled across the whole country to go back home. I’m sure Socrates can make it a few blocks.

“We have to be positive,” I say. “That’s what my dad says when I’m feeling sad.”

“That’s very perky of you,” Brenna says.

BOOK: Homeless

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