Page 93 of Not Mine to Rescue

“I’ve seen more death than you can imagine.” She circled her hand around the room, indicating the cages and the pens. “Every day lately.”

I was being selfish. “I so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s hard to think about others when you’re in panic mode.”

I found a nearby chair and planted my butt on it. Molly nudged my hand, begging for pets. I scratched her ears and tried to break my emotions into little parts so I could deal with each piece, one at a time. The floodgates holding the rest back were strained. The tension of it bottled up around my spine and crept around my throat like a set of invisible hands.

“Wombat was going to buy you the Plan B kit, but he never did, did he?”

I shook my head. “I told him not to.”

Her mouth tightened. “You want to be pregnant, don’t you?”

No.

Yes.

And no, that wasn’t what I really wanted. “I want to be a mother.” I dropped Molly’s leash to cover my face. I didn’t dare touch my eyes because the tears hanging there would spill free, but I covered the silent scream of terror I was holding back. Molly laid her jaw on my leg. Her eyes rolled up to watch me. I couldn’t console her, though. I was barely hanging onto myself.

How would I ever be capable of taking care of someone else if I couldn’t take care of my own dog?

More than anything, that broke me out of the spiral of anxiety, and I shoved everything back into their morgue of lost desires. She sighed and let me scratch her ears.

“Here. Be careful to keep the heating pad in place.” Lemon laid a bundle of towels on my lap and then handed me a syringe. Inside the burrito of warmth was a tiny kitten. Molly took interest, smelling the syringe, then the opening.

That got a little cry from the kitten. It was barely able to squeeze out sound. And that meager noise was raspy and weak. “What do I do?”

“Squeeze out the formula one drop at a time. Make sure the kitten is getting it into their mouth and that it doesn’t go in or come out their nose. You don’t want them to aspirate. Take your time.”

I did as told. The little thing barely got a drop of the tube swallowed. “It’s not eating.”

“We don’t expect it to last the night.”

How horrifying. “Why did you do this to me?”

“We need the hands. Things die. But not if we can help it. Try harder. Here.”

She took the syringe from me and showed me how to get the kitten to respond.

It felt like hours later that the dropper was finally empty and the kitten was returned to a little cave of heating pad, soft blankets, and a heartbeat simulator so it wouldn’t feel alone. I stared at it, watching it sleep.

“You should go home.”

Wombat’s voice made me realize the room had lost its usual bustle without Lemon in it. Molly napped at my feet. She hadn’t done more than move an ear when Wombat spoke. “I was watching the kitten.”

“Hum.”

“Why are you here? It’s Friday, don’t you have stuff with your club?”

He hesitated. “They’re throwing a party. It’s not mandatory.”

Fly was gone, how could it not be? He was lying. “I could have sworn you once said Friday’s are mandatory.”

“Not during kitten seasons. Not for me, anyway.”

I looked around at the quiet cages. “Don’t you want to go to your party?” He should. He was young. That’s what you do.

“Maybe I want you to come with me?”