by C. Morgan
My eyes fluttered open at three in the morning and I found myself lying in my own bed blinking up at my own bedroom ceiling. I massaged my eyes with the heels of my hands and wondered what that dream was all about. Why had there been a cat meowing?
Suddenly, the meow came again.
I propped myself up on one elbow and peered into the darkness of my room. “Muse?”
He meowed in response. It was a strained sound and very unlike his usual chirping meow.
I sat up all the way and yanked the blankets down. “Muse?” I clicked my tongue and snapped my fingers. “Where are you?”
The meows came again and I knew immediately that something was wrong. That sound was one of distress. Of pain.
When I couldn’t find him in the dark, I hurried to the light switch and flicked it on. I nearly blinded myself initially, but once my eyes adjusted, I was able to look for my little black cat, who was on an average day an expert-level hider. I followed his meow down to my knees, where I leaned forward to press my cheek to the floor so I could look under my bed.
A pair of big green eyes blinked at me from the depths under the bed. He was curled in on himself and the end of his tail twitched from side to side.
“Muse? What are you doing under there, baby? Are you okay?”
I shimmied closer to the edge of the bed and slid my arm under the frame. I had to strain and reach, and the frame dug into my shoulder, but my fingers finally grazed soft black fur. I ran a hand over the rise of his back and spoke softly and calmly to him as I tried to guide him out.
He hissed at me.
His claws sank into the back of my hand and a screeching cry came out of him unlike anything I’d ever heard. I yelped and yanked my hand back. Two drops of blood fell onto my bare thigh as I straightened up and looked at the three deep scratches on the back of my hand.
“Muse.”
Something was seriously wrong.
My heart started racing.
Muse had never acted like this before. We’d had a couple of health-related vet visits just like every pet owner but none of them had ever been terribly serious, and I’d caught them early enough to not be terribly distressing for my cat.
He’d had bladder crystals when he was in his early years, so I’d changed his food. He’d had an ear infection. Lastly, he’d gotten into one of the waste baskets in my bathroom and eaten three strands of dental floss. The vet monitored him closely and he passed them naturally. My kitty had a clean bill of health. I’d even taken him for his annual appointment about three months ago and he’d checked out perfectly.
So what the hell was all this about?
I scrambled to get my phone off the nightstand and looked up emergency vet clinics. There was no way I was waiting until morning to bring him in. I knew my cat and he would never attack me unless he felt truly threatened. I knew in my gut that he was in serious pain and I wasn’t going to be able to help.
I needed a professional.
There were two clinics I could call but each of them were a fair distance away. It would be over an hour and a half before I actually got him in front of a vet.
An idea popped into my head. “Rylen.”
He was a vet. Sure, it might be unprofessional to call a potential client in the dead of night for kitty-cat problems, but it was a risk I was willing to take. Muse was my family.
“Hold on, buddy,” I said to my anxiously grumbling cat. “We’re going to figure this out.”
I scrolled through my list of recent calls until Rylen’s number came up, hit dial, and held it to my ear, already grimacing in guilt over waking him up at this hour.
It rang four times before his thick voice came on the line. He sounded groggy and unlike himself. His voice was at least three decibels deeper. “Natalie? What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
His question surprised me. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry to call you and wake you up. I know how unprofessional this is. But I need your help. There’s something wrong with my cat.”
He yawned, stifled it, and asked, “Your cat?”
“He’s a black American short hair. Eight years old. I woke up to him meowing. It sounds wrong, like he’s hurting, and I found him under my bed. When I tried to pull him out, he attacked me and he’s never done that before. I know something is wrong and I don’t know what to do. He was acting normal last night and we cuddled like usual and—”
“Natalie,” Rylen said softly. I could hear bed sheets rustling in the background and I imagined he was getting out of bed. “Take a breath. Text me your address. I don’t think you should be driving. I’ll come get him and bring him to the clinic. You’re probably right. Cats are creatures of habit and routine. If something has changed, then something is wrong.”
Even though he was confirming my fears, Rylen’s voice soothed my panic. “You’re going to come get him?”
“Yes. You said you live close to your office?”
“Blocks away.”
“Good. My clinic isn’t too far. About a twenty-minute drive. I’ll check him out and we’ll have answers two hours from now. Okay?”
I pressed a hand to my forehead. I could handle two hours. “Okay. Okay. I’ll text you the address now. The front door of the apartment building will be unlocked and we’re the first door on the right.”
“See you soon.”
I hung up and texted him my address with shaking hands. Then I scrambled to get dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, pulled my blankets off my bed, and laid them on the floor so I could lie on my side and keep an eye on Muse, who was now refusing to even look at me.
“Help is on the way, Muse,” I called. “I forgive you for scratching me.”
It felt like forever that I lay on my floor waiting. Finally, the knock came at the front door.
I hurried to my feet, down the hall to the door, and yanked it open. Rylen was there looking a little disheveled and rough around the edges. His brown hair was sticking every which way and he had stubble growing on his jaw. It suited him.
“Any changes?” Rylen asked.
I shook my head as I let him in and led him to my bedroom. We both went down to our knees beside the bed. “He hasn’t moved,” I said.
Rylen stayed perfectly still for a moment and watched the cat. Calmly, he got to his feet and asked me to grab him a towel and close the bedroom door behind me when I came back. I did. Once we were locked in the bedroom, he asked me to help him tip my bed over.
Muse meowed frantically as we tipped the bed on its side and leaned it against the wall. He didn’t leave his spot under the bed. He curled in even tighter until he was a tight ball of black fur. The meows grew louder in pitch.
My stomach tightened. This was all wrong. All wrong.
Rylen approached slowly and crouched down beside Muse. He didn’t reach out to pet him. Instead, he balanced on the balls of his feet and watched Muse. I wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, but it looked like he was conducting a visual exam before he took any more steps.
Rylen looked up at me. “Do you think he could have eaten something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? He’s not usually one to nibble on things though. He never touches any of my plants. He used to rummage through waste baskets but I have lids on them all now. And we never leave food out.” My emotions were starting to get the better of me. I forced myself to stay in control.
“Okay,” Rylen said slowly. “Well, I don’t think I’ll get any more answers here. He’s going to make a lot of noise when I move him. It can be distressing. Just know we’re going to help him, all right? He’s going to get more uncomfortable before he gets better. Can I pick him up?”
My throat tightened, and my vision blurred with tears, but I nodded.
Rylen held out his hand, and without having to speak, I knew he was asking for the towel. I handed it to him.
His movements were slow and deliberate. He’d obviously worked with animals for a long time. He didn’t want to
spook Muse as he opened the towel up and folded it in half. He reached for Muse and spoke softly to him. Muse hissed and meowed as Rylen ran the towel over his back. The cat didn’t flee.
Rylen wrapped Muse up in the towel. My cat attempted to bite him but his teeth didn’t puncture the towel. Rylen wrapped him up so tight Muse couldn’t escape.
He stroked him three times from the tip of his nose to the top of his head and turned to me. “Ready?”
I nodded.
We made our way out into the hall where we bumped into Victoria, who was standing there in her silk nightgown rubbing at her eyes.
She frowned when she saw Rylen make for the door with my cat. “What the hell is going on? Was that Muse making all that noise?”
My tears flowed freely now. “Something is wrong. I called Rylen because I didn’t know what to do. We’re taking him to his clinic.”
Victoria’s eyes widened with concern. “Do you want me to go with you?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you though. I’ll be okay. He’s in good hands, I think.”
Victoria nodded and followed us to the front door. She called after me to keep her in the loop and tell her if I needed anything. All I needed was to know Muse was going to be okay. Rylen and I hurried down the front steps from the building to his truck, where I climbed up in the cab and he passed Muse to me.
My cat sat on my lap, his limbs tied down by the towel, and meowed in pain the whole drive to the clinic. It broke my heart.
Rylen’s clinic was a small stucco building with a great big bay window in the lobby. He flicked the lights on as I came in behind him and we went straight for one of the exam rooms, where Rylen paused to clean his glasses with the edge of his sweater before putting them back on. We struggled to put a cone over Muse’s head so he wouldn’t bite during his exam, and once that was done, Rylen began his work.
I stood back with my arms tightly wrapped around myself and did everything in my power not to cry. That wasn’t going to help the situation. Muse stared wide eyed at me the whole time until Rylen’s hands ceased their movements around Muse’s abdomen.
My cat went rigid as a board.
Rylen made a sound in the back of his throat and nodded. “There it is.”
I stepped forward. “What is it? Can we fix it?”
Rylen let Muse go. “It feels like he has a swollen spleen. I want to run some tests and get an ultrasound done to make sure, but as of right now, I’m fairly confident that’s the problem. If we don’t act, we risk it getting bigger. Since I don’t have access to any of his records because your clinic is closed, I’m going in a little blind here.”
“I trust you.”
Rylen offered me a warm smile. “I’m going to get you more answers before we pick a course of action, but based on experience, I think we’re going to be looking at surgery.”
“I’ll do whatever you think is best.”
Rylen turned his back to me and opened one of the cabinets behind him. He looked around briefly before coming back with a vial and a syringe. “I’m going to give him something to take the pain away a bit and relax him. He’s so tense we won’t be able to get an ultrasound done and I don’t like him to be this worked up. It’s not good for them. Can you give him some affection while I give him the injection?”
I stepped up and comforted Muse with a soft voice and some scratches behind the ears. He didn’t lean into my touch like he usually did.
About five minutes after the shot, Muse visibly relaxed. He let me pet him and his eyes got heavy.
Rylen came around to my side of the counter and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m very confident he’ll be okay, Natalie. I’m going to step out and call my vet tech. I don’t want to do this surgery alone just in case. Are you good here for a minute?”
I nodded and the only words that I could manage were, “Thank you.
Chapter 16
Rylen
Drew closed Muse’s cage. He hadn’t woken from the anaesthetic yet but we’d made sure he would be comfortable when he did tomorrow morning. By then, Kelly would be here to comfort him so he wouldn’t be alone. He’d be cozy with all his blankets, he had fresh water, and when I came in tomorrow morning, I’d check him out and make sure there were no side effects from his surgery.
“Thank you for coming in,” I said as I removed my gloves and lab coat. “Sleep in. I won’t need you until around noon, so you can catch up on the missed sleep.”
Drew leaned up against the cages at his back. “It’s good you went for it and took the spleen out. That thing was going to burst any second.”
He wasn’t wrong. Natalie’s cat had been extremely lucky that the worst hadn’t happened. I was eager to go give her the good news and let her breathe again.
Drew and I left the back room and turned the lights out in our wake. Out in the waiting room, I found Natalie curled up on the bench seat in front of the bay windows. She’d fallen asleep over the course of the hour-long surgery. I couldn’t blame her. It was nearly five in the morning now.
Drew made for the door and left. His headlights shone through the front window as he pulled away and I crouched down in front of Natalie.
Gently, I put a hand on her shoulder and spoke her name to wake her.
Natalie’s green eyes fluttered open. Her brow creased as she processed where she was and why I was there. She sat up and I sat down beside her.
“How is he?” she asked thinly.
“Good. The surgery went really well. There were no complications. He’ll be sleeping off the anaesthetic for another five or six hours. He won’t be alone when he wakes up. We had to remove his spleen. He had internal bleeding from a kinked artery which was resulting in the swelling. If you hadn’t called me when you did, it might have been too late and his spleen might have ruptured.”
“What would that have meant?” she asked with wide eyes.
“Well, to put it simply, his body cavity would have filled with blood. It would put pressure on all his organs until it was too much. He’d die from organ failure or a heart attack.”
Natalie’s face paled.
I smiled warmly at her. “But none of that happened because you acted quickly. He’s going to be just fine.”
She ran her fingers through her copper hair. I’d been right about the color. It wasn’t an artificial color like it seemed in the dim lighting of her office. She was a natural strawberry blonde. “Can I pick him up tomorrow?”
“I’ll keep you posted. Once he wakes up and I check him out in the afternoon, I’ll know more. But usually with these kinds of things, I like to keep them for at least twenty-four hours to monitor their recovery.”
“Okay.”
“Speaking of which, I know this might be a strange question but you wouldn’t happen to be wearing an undershirt under your sweater, would you?”
She frowned at me, puzzled. “Sorry?”
“Like a tank top?”
“Um, I am. Why?”
“Could I borrow it?”
“My tank top?”
“Yes.”
Natalie blinked in confusion. “Sure, but why do you need it?”
“I’d like to put it in Muse’s cage so he can smell you when he wakes up. It’s something I like to do with animals when they have to stay for an extended period of time and they’ve had surgery. It helps keep them calm to wake up in a foreign place with a familiar smell.”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. She tucked her arms into the sleeves of her sweater and took off her tank top underneath. Seconds later, she gave me the thin black piece of clothing that smelled like her.
“Thanks,” I said before tilting my head toward the back door. “Do you want to come see him before we go?”
“Yes please.”
I brought Natalie to the back room. There weren’t any dogs staying overnight, which was good, because it meant the clinic was quiet and still. There was another cat in one of the lower cages who’d had an operation yesterday morning on a benign tu
mor.
Natalie went straight to Muse’s cage. I unlocked it for her and she reached in to pet his nose and rub him behind the ears. She had a gentle and affectionate touch. I handed her shirt back to her and she tucked it in close to Muse.
When she was done, she wiped her tears away. I locked the cage and guided her out to the lobby, where she waited patiently while I made sure everything was locked up. We stepped out into the cool night air and got in my truck, where Natalie sat quietly in the passenger seat gnawing at the inside of her cheek.
“Hey,” I said, “you have nothing to worry about. I promise. He’s in good hands.”
She nodded and swallowed several times over. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
I could think of something. I grinned.
She pointed an accusing finger at me and smiled through her tears. “If you say, ‘go to Paris with me,’ I’ll feed you to my cat when he wakes up.”
I laughed. “You read my mind.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“Ouch.”
She let her hand fall into her lap.
That was when I noticed the three deep scratches on the back of her hand. I reached over, took her hand in mine, and turned on the light in the truck. I whistled. “He got you good, huh?”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
I frowned. Cat scratches could get infected easily. Her skin was already red and raised around the tears. “We should clean it up a bit.”
“Honestly, it’s fine. We don’t have to go back inside. I’ll wash it when I get home.”
I leaned across her and opened my glove box. She waited, her hand still resting in mine, while I rummaged around and pulled out a small container of alcohol wipes, gauze, and some tape.
She arched an eyebrow as I began opening the packages and wiped her hand down. She didn’t flinch even though I was sure it stung.
“You just carry around a bunch of medical supplies in your glove box?” she asked.
“I receive a lot of swag from medical reps who come into my clinic trying to sell me new products. And I have a five-year-old. Scrapes and bruises happen all the time. I’m the prepared dad.” I looked up at her from beneath my brow. “Crosswords and gauze. Turn-ons for sure, am I right?”