Homeless

  “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

  Even 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.

  “Hey, where did his bowl go?” I point to the corner where Socrates usually eats from his special “Fat Cat” bowl.

  “Gran put it away,” Zoe explains. “We were keeping it full of food for Socrates, but the dogs kept eating it. It’s in the cupboard.”

  That makes it seem like he’s never coming back. I can feel the lump growing in my throat. Don’t cry, don’t pout—do something. Be positive.

  “Let’s put the bowl back where it belongs,” I say. “We don’t have to put any food in it, just leave it in the corner. It will make us feel better.”

  Maggie smiles at me. “You got it.” She jumps up from the table to get Socrates’ bowl.

  “Are you sure Dr. Mac said we have to check all of these files?” David groans as he pulls another from the pile. “This is going to take forever.”

  “It’s not that hard,” I say. “We just have to stay organized. Don’t mix up the piles of what’s been checked and not checked. I bet we can get through the Cs by the time we have to go home.”

  “No way,” Brenna says. “Not if we go with Dr. Mac and Gary to release the cats.”

  “Are we allowed?” I ask.

  “Well, we all got a huge ‘You must follow directions or you’ll get hurt’ lecture from Gran when she got back from taking you to the hospital,” Zoe says. “But they said we can watch if we want.”

  “Sorry about that, guys,” I apologize.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Zoe says. “But what about your parents? Your mom seemed a little nervous when we saw you on Sunday. I didn’t know if she would let you come back to the clinic.”

  I nod. “It took some convincing. I’ve got her reading all this stuff about cats to prove they aren’t the horrible beasts she imagines. Believe it or not, I’m still trying for a cat of my own. She said she liked my determination. Anyway, I really want to see the release. I bet the feral cats will be really happy to be outside again,” I say. “They’ve been cooped up here for a long time.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brenna says, laying down her pencil. “I thought you were the one who said all cats need a home.”

  A blush creeps up my neck. “I wasn’t thinking about what the cats felt like when I said that. Dr. Mac was right. The ferals belong outside, where they’re used to living.”

  “Wow,” Brenna says. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

  “I hope we can capture Mittens this time,” Maggie says. “It would be great if we could find homes for her kittens.”

  “Too bad Mrs. Frazier was so angry,” Zoe says. “Her kids would love a kitten.”

  “Pigs will fly before that happens,” Maggie replies.

  We sort through the files in silence, making lists of clients to contact about overdue vaccinations. Suddenly, Sherlock lets out a deep “woof!”

  “Someone’s here,” Maggie says without looking up from her pile.

  David peeks through the blinds. “It’s Gary. Time to release the cats.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cat Land is quiet and peaceful when we arrive. We follow Gary and Dr. Mac to the clearing. When Gary opens the doors of the first two cages, the cats race out and disappear into the weeds.

  “Later, dudes,” David calls to the cats.

  “They sure look like happy campers, don’t they?” Gary says.

  Dr. Mac grins. “You look pretty pleased yourself.”

  Gary crosses his arms over his chest and studies the spot where the cats hurried into the underbrush. “Yep. I became an Animal Control officer because I wanted to help animals. I really like the way this is working out.”

  I think we should be videotaping this. Lots of people think Animal Control officers are the bad guys, like the old-fashioned dogcatchers in cartoons. But Gary obviously cares about animals.

  “Uh-oh,” Maggie says. “Here comes trouble.”

  Mrs. Frazier is headed toward us, punching numbers on a cell phone. She looks even angrier than she did the first time I met her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands with a red face. “You’re supposed to be taking the cats out of here, not bringing more in! Is that why this whole thing is taking so long? You take away a few cats to calm me down, then you sneak more back in? Well, I’m not feeling very calm, Mr. Snyder, not at all!”

  “Mrs. Frazier, let me explain,” Gary says. “The cats we just released are vaccinated and spayed. They present no danger to you or your family. Mrs. Frazier?”

  “Hello? Animal Control?” she says into the cell phone. “Get me the supervisor. We have an emergency.”

  “Mrs. Frazier, this is not an emergency,” Gary tries again. “If you would just listen to me . . .”

  She covers the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand. “No, you listen to me! I will not have my kids put in danger in their own backyard. I’m going to have this place crawling with people. I’ve already called the police and the TV stations. And now I’m going to get your job taken away. Yes,” she says
into the phone. “We have a problem here on Dorset.” She walks toward her neighbor’s house while she talks.

  Dr. Mac’s right eyebrow is arched high. “Gary Snyder,” she says sternly, “please tell me you had that meeting with the residents, the one where you were going to explain the TVSR program to them.”

  Gary looks ten years old all of a sudden. His face turns red, and his eyes look everywhere except at Dr. Mac’s face. In the distance, Mrs. Frazier punches another number on her cell phone and then yells into it. Gary may be a great Animal Control officer, but unfortunately, he’s an absent-minded one.

  “You did have the meeting, didn’t you?” Dr. Mac asks.

  He takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s just that we had some loose dogs, and then a deer was wandering around the new development, and I’ve had twelve skunk calls since Saturday, and—well . . . it slipped my mind,” he admits.

  Dr. Mac closes her eyes like she’s got a headache.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “Exactly what we came here for,” Gary says. “These cats are safe. They won’t harm anyone. I say let’s finish the job. Release the cats, trap the next batch, and then go home. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with the neighbors tonight, I promise.”

  “But what if Mrs. Frazier does something to hurt them?” I say.

  “You can’t ignore Mrs. Frazier,” Dr. Mac says. “She’s furious. Let’s take the cats back to the clinic and keep them there a few more days. We’ll release them after the meeting.”

  The four caged cats still in the back of the pickup truck start to yowl. I bet they can tell they’re close to home. They want to get out.

  Gary kicks a pebble toward the railroad tracks. “That wouldn’t be fair to the cats. They have been through a lot of stress being captured and treated. Let’s release them now, then we’ll set up the meeting. It will just take a minute.”

  Dr. Mac studies the cats, then nods once. Gary jogs back to his truck to get two more cages.

  “I think Gary’s right. The best thing for them right now is to set them free. There is plenty of space back here. I’ll talk to Mrs. Frazier and her kids about not leaving food out for the cats. If they stop doing that, then the ferals won’t stay so close to the houses. Now back to the van, everyone.”