Page 98 of Until Joy

“I'll stay close to Joy.”

Three hours later, I understood why people said veterinary medicine wasn't for the faint of heart. I'd somehow been drafted into crowd control, herding anxious pet owners through the clinic like some kind of crossing guard.

“Sir?” A trembling voice caught my attention. “Could you help me?”

I turned to find a woman who had to be pushing ninety, clutching a cat carrier that looked like it predated the Carter administration. The ancient orange tabby inside was making sounds that suggested it had given up on life sometime during the Clinton years. This didn’t look good.

“What do you need, ma'am?”

“Whiskers weighs twenty-two pounds, and I can't lift him onto the exam table.” She patted the carrier with arthritic hands. “He's been my companion for nineteen years.”

“Let me get that for you.”

I hefted the carrier, surprised by the weight. The cat inside fixed me with an angry yellow stare that clearly communicated his opinion of this entire situation.

“He doesn't like strangers,” she warned as I set the carrier on the exam table.

“That makes two of us,” I muttered.

She laughed, a surprisingly robust sound. “You're Joy's young man, aren't you? She talks about you when she checks on Whiskers during his overnight stays.”

“She does?”

“Yes. You're a good boy. I can tell by how you handle animals.” She opened the carrier door with practiced ease. “Whiskers, come meet Graham.”

The cat emerged, then promptly flopped onto his side with a wheeze.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh, he's fine. He's just dramatic. Whiskers, show the nice man your belly.”

The enormous cat rolled completely over, exposing an enormous gut. I couldn't help but grin as he started purring.

“He likes you.” The woman beamed. “Whiskers is an excellent judge of character.”

From across the room, I caught Joy watching with a soft smile on her face. She gave me a little wave before turning back to the nervous-looking teenager she was helping with a squirming puppy.

“Mister! Mister!” A high-pitched voice demanded my attention. “I need help!”

A little girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed grin stood beside me, holding a small cage that contained what looked like a furry ping-pong ball.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

“Peanut got out!” She pointed to the cage. “He was right here, and now he's gone!”

“Honey, he’s right there.” I pointed to the white fluff ball.

“No, that’s Princess Beatrice. It’s Prince Peanut who got away.”

I looked around the crowded waiting room, imagining a loose gerbil creating chaos among the already stressed animals. “When did you last see him?”

“Just now! Mommy said to hold the cage tight, but Prince Peanut pushed the door open with his nose.”

A woman with a toddler attached to her hip rushed over, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I'm so sorry,” she said as she looked up at me. I could see her wince. I knew I didn’t look like the type of man she wanted her daughter talking to. Oh well, I was who she was stuck with. She looked down at her daughter. “Madison, I told you to keep that latch closed.”

“Mom, you know that Prince is really smart,” Madison explained seriously. She turned to me. “He can open doors and everything.”

I crouched down to her eye level. “Okay, Madison. Gerbils like to hide in small, dark places. Where would you hide if you were Prince Peanut?”