Storm Rescue by Laurie Halse Anderson

Chapter One
    W hat are you trying to do, Sunita?” Maggie MacKenzie asks as she flops down onto the deck beside me. “Turn that cat into a dog?”
    I tuck my long, dark hair behind one ear and grin at Maggie. “No way,” I say. “I like Lucy just the way she is!”
    I toss the small, squishy ball I’m holding. “Mwaaawr!” Lucy cries, and pounces on the ball, batting it with one paw as she rolls over onto her back. I expect her to twist around and whap the ball again. Instead, she just lies there for a second with all four paws straight up in the air.
    Maggie giggles. “I guess it’s too hot for playing ball today. Sherlock is acting even lazier than usual, too.”
    â€œI guess.” I stare at Lucy, a little surprised. Even though she’s thirteen years old, she’s almost always as playful as a kitten—not like Maggie’s basset hound, Sherlock Holmes, who is pretty lazy.
    Finally, Lucy rolls the rest of the way over, halfheartedly bats the ball—and gets tangled up in her leash.
    I reach for her. “Lucy, you love playing ball, remember?” I say, untangling her. Lucy’s leash and the harness it’s attached to are blue, just like her eyes. She blinks at me, then rubs her head against my chin to say thank you.
    Lucy is one of my favorite patients here at Dr. Mac’s Place, where I’m a volunteer. She’s a seal-point Siamese cat—that’s a breed of cat with a light-colored body and dark brown fur on its legs, tail, and face. The darker areas are called points.
    I love pet-sitting for Lucy when her owner, Mrs. Clark, goes out of town—even though Lucy is a big responsibility. She has diabetes. That means her body doesn’t produce a special protein called insulin. It turns food into glucose, a sugar that gives the body energy. So Lucy needs an injection of insulin twice a day to help regulate her body’s glucose level. Dr. Mac taught me how to give her the shots.
    I set Lucy down. “Mrrwowrr!” she says loudly. That’s another thing about Siamese cats. They’re really talkative.
    â€œJust goes to show.” Maggie blows a few tendrils of red hair off her face as she watches Lucy stalk the ball again. Maggie’s face is so red from the summer heat that her freckles hardly show at all. “There’s no point putting a leash on a cat.”
    I don’t bother to reply to that. It’s too hot to argue. It’s the Saturday before Labor Day, and the day of the clinic’s annual picnic. Every year, all the clinic’s patients are invited to celebrate the end of summer. Their owners are invited, too, of course.
    Maggie’s grandmother owns the clinic. Her name is Dr. J.J. MacKenzie, but most people just call her Dr. Mac. Maggie and her cousin Zoe call her Gran, though aside from her white hair, nobody would guess she was old enough to be a grandmother. She’s tall, wears bright T-shirts from The Gap, and never seems to stop moving. Right now she’s with her partner, Dr. Gabe, talking to some picnic guests with a pair of panting poodles.
    Personally, I’m glad Mrs. Clark taught her to walk on a leash. Lucy is the only cat at the whole picnic except for Dr. Mac’s big orange cat, Socrates. One woman brought her cockatoo and is walking around with the big white bird perched on her shoulder. Another owner has a pet rat peeking out of his shirt pocket. But otherwise, everywhere I look I see dogs, dogs, dogs. There must be thirty or forty dogs of all shapes and sizes in the clinic’s grassy, fenced-in backyard. I’m glad that Lucy and I are up on the deck, out of the way.
    Don’t get me wrong. I like almost all the animals that come to Dr. Mac’s Place—dogs, ferrets, rabbits, pigs, snakes, horses, hamsters, birds, and more. But I’ve always loved cats the most. There’s something about the way they move. Or maybe it’s the way they look