sit on the top of the wood Rebecca had split for her fireplace and survey both our yards like a ruler on his throne.
I started back to the house, keeping a firm grip on the cat, because I knew once he figured out what my next move was going to be he was going to disappear.
Literally.
As soon as I was in the kitchen, I reached for the cat carrier bag hanging by the door, swept Owen inside and zippered the top shut with one smooth motion. His howl of outrage brought Hercules from the living room.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “This is something Roma has to do.”
His golden eyes glared at me through the mesh panel in the top of the bag. As I picked up my phone, Hercules approached the bag and meowed softly in inquiry at his brother. Owen held up his injured paw and gave a pitiful meow. Hercules looked over his shoulder at me.
“No,” I said as I pulled up Roma’s number on my phone. “I’m not doing this. He needs a doctor.” I shook my head. Why was I explaining myself to them?
Roma agreed to meet us at the clinic. Once we got into an examination room she gave me a towel to wrap around Owen and pulled on her Kevlar glove. I tried to stroke his fur, but he twisted his head away and glared at me.
“I know it hurts,” I said. I took hold of his paw with my right hand, keeping his body against my body with my arm. At the same time I held a catnip chicken in front of his face with the other hand. He turned his head, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Owen knew a bribe when he was presented with one, and he wanted to ignore the yellow chicken, but there’s principle and then there’s funky chickens.
He grabbed the toy in his mouth and at the same moment Roma yanked the sliver of wood from his paw with a large pair of tweezers. Owen gave a yowl of surprise and Fred the Funky Chicken fell into my outstretched hand. He tried to shake his paw but I was still holding on to it.
“Let Roma make sure she got it all,” I said.
He shot me a baleful glance and took the catnip chicken in his teeth, biting down through the yellow fabric into the tightly packed catnip with a crunching sound.
Roma straightened up. “I don’t see any other slivers of wood, and the skin is barely broken. I’m going to rinse the area, but that’s about all. Given that Owen is . . . well . . . Owen, I’m not going to put on a bandage, but if you see any sign at all of infection, bring him back.”
She leaned sideways to get in the little tabby’s line of sight. He stared, resolutely, at the floor. “Good job, Owen,” she said.
He made ungracious grumbling sounds in his throat.
By the time we were back in the truck it was almost time to meet Gavin. I decided Owen would be okay for about half an hour in the truck. I gave him a pile of sardine crackers.
“I’ll bring you something from Eric’s,” I promised.
He licked his whiskers but refused to look at me.
I left him spreading his crackers all over the seat.
Gavin smiled when he saw me walk in. I didn’t see anything in his expression that suggested he saw himself as a starving man and me as a hamburger.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “I had a small cat emergency.”
“Is everything all right?”
I nodded. “Owen got a sliver of wood stuck in his paw, but it’s out and he’s okay. In fact, he’ll probably be milking it for the rest of the week.”
“Can’t fault him for that,” Gavin said, grinning at me.
Claire was at the table with coffee for me before I’d pulled off my jacket. Gavin gave her his toothpaste-commercial smile. “Thanks, Claire,” he said. “You know you’re going to have me ruined for anywhere else to eat when I go back to Chicago.”
She smiled back at him. “It’s all part of my master plan for world domination.” She looked at me. “We got some tomatoes from the hydroponic place. They’re pretty good.” One eyebrow went up. “Are you interested in a breakfast sandwich?”
“Very,” I said. “Thank
I started back to the house, keeping a firm grip on the cat, because I knew once he figured out what my next move was going to be he was going to disappear.
Literally.
As soon as I was in the kitchen, I reached for the cat carrier bag hanging by the door, swept Owen inside and zippered the top shut with one smooth motion. His howl of outrage brought Hercules from the living room.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “This is something Roma has to do.”
His golden eyes glared at me through the mesh panel in the top of the bag. As I picked up my phone, Hercules approached the bag and meowed softly in inquiry at his brother. Owen held up his injured paw and gave a pitiful meow. Hercules looked over his shoulder at me.
“No,” I said as I pulled up Roma’s number on my phone. “I’m not doing this. He needs a doctor.” I shook my head. Why was I explaining myself to them?
Roma agreed to meet us at the clinic. Once we got into an examination room she gave me a towel to wrap around Owen and pulled on her Kevlar glove. I tried to stroke his fur, but he twisted his head away and glared at me.
“I know it hurts,” I said. I took hold of his paw with my right hand, keeping his body against my body with my arm. At the same time I held a catnip chicken in front of his face with the other hand. He turned his head, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Owen knew a bribe when he was presented with one, and he wanted to ignore the yellow chicken, but there’s principle and then there’s funky chickens.
He grabbed the toy in his mouth and at the same moment Roma yanked the sliver of wood from his paw with a large pair of tweezers. Owen gave a yowl of surprise and Fred the Funky Chicken fell into my outstretched hand. He tried to shake his paw but I was still holding on to it.
“Let Roma make sure she got it all,” I said.
He shot me a baleful glance and took the catnip chicken in his teeth, biting down through the yellow fabric into the tightly packed catnip with a crunching sound.
Roma straightened up. “I don’t see any other slivers of wood, and the skin is barely broken. I’m going to rinse the area, but that’s about all. Given that Owen is . . . well . . . Owen, I’m not going to put on a bandage, but if you see any sign at all of infection, bring him back.”
She leaned sideways to get in the little tabby’s line of sight. He stared, resolutely, at the floor. “Good job, Owen,” she said.
He made ungracious grumbling sounds in his throat.
By the time we were back in the truck it was almost time to meet Gavin. I decided Owen would be okay for about half an hour in the truck. I gave him a pile of sardine crackers.
“I’ll bring you something from Eric’s,” I promised.
He licked his whiskers but refused to look at me.
I left him spreading his crackers all over the seat.
Gavin smiled when he saw me walk in. I didn’t see anything in his expression that suggested he saw himself as a starving man and me as a hamburger.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “I had a small cat emergency.”
“Is everything all right?”
I nodded. “Owen got a sliver of wood stuck in his paw, but it’s out and he’s okay. In fact, he’ll probably be milking it for the rest of the week.”
“Can’t fault him for that,” Gavin said, grinning at me.
Claire was at the table with coffee for me before I’d pulled off my jacket. Gavin gave her his toothpaste-commercial smile. “Thanks, Claire,” he said. “You know you’re going to have me ruined for anywhere else to eat when I go back to Chicago.”
She smiled back at him. “It’s all part of my master plan for world domination.” She looked at me. “We got some tomatoes from the hydroponic place. They’re pretty good.” One eyebrow went up. “Are you interested in a breakfast sandwich?”
“Very,” I said. “Thank
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