“Freddy is obsessed with motorcycles lately,” I say. “It’s a bit unhealthy, in my opinion.”
“Maybe it’s Dylan he likes?” Mario asks.
“No, it’s the motorcycle,” I say.
But I know Mario is right, as usual.
I have so many questions about love! What makes it true, and what makes it not-so-true? Why does love seem so hard, and why is almost every single song about love so sad? I don’t want to make my mother unhappy. But shouldn’t she find out the truth?
And what about Freddy’s little hurting heart?
I want to ask Mario’s advice, but there just isn’t time. Hundreds and hundreds of lovey-dovey texts are probably zooming back and forth between my mother and the Villain right this very second.
I jump up from my seat. “We have to go home now,” I blue-whopper. “My mother is coming home early.”
“That’s nice,” says Mario.
I saw the Villain put his hand on my mom’s shoulder when they were washing dishes together last night. Things are happening way, way too quickly. I am a DESPERADO!
“Come, Freddy,” I say. I grab his hand, and out the door we go.
here are we going? Why are we rushing?” Freddy asks. His short legs are pumping away because I’m walking so fast, almost running.
“We’re not rushing,” I say.
“Yes, we are,” he says, panting a bit.
He’s right. It feels like a big whoosh of wind is blowing me down the street. I want to get started on my new plan before I lose my nerve.
“OK, we’re going to the vet and I’m rushing because I want to get there before visiting hours are over,” I say.
“I didn’t know there were visiting hours at the vet,” says Fred.
Actually, no one had mentioned anything about visiting hours. I’d even looked for a big sign announcing the hours, like the sign on the wall at the hospital where my father had been, but I hadn’t seen one at the Good Samaritan Veterinary Clinic.
“Of course there are visiting hours!” I say, and the thought that there really aren’t makes me angry. I walk even faster.
We’ve reached the clinic. We go up the front stairs, then through the big glass doors.
There are two Good Samaritan receptionists at the front desk. I notice that one of them is wearing a T-shirt that says DOG IS GOD SPELLED BACKWARD. Under normal circumstances, I’d want to spend some time pondering that, but now all I have time to think about is Zook and my plan.
PLAN
STEP ONE: Freddy and I somehow stroll through the door toward the examining rooms.
STEP TWO AND ALIBI: If someone questions us, we and our mom brought our gerbil in for a regular exam. We’re just strolling the hallway while we wait for it to be examined, that’s all.
STEP THREE: Hunt for the big room where all the over-nighters are kept.
STEP FOUR: Find it.
STEP FIVE: Somehow free Zook and somehow hide him under my sweatshirt and smuggle him out, just for a few hours or so.
PROBLEMS: Too many “somehows.”
“May I help you?” asks a receptionist, not the one wearing the DOG IS GOD SPELLED BACKWARD T-shirt. This one is wearing dangly, sparkly earrings with circles and spokes. They look like cat toys, and under normal circumstances I’d probably warn her about those earrings. Not the greatest fashion choice if you work around cats.
Instead, I say, “We’re waiting to meet my mother. She’s parking the car. She’ll be here in a few minutes with our sick gerbil.”
Freddy turns toward me, his eyes popping out of his head. Even Freddy, who believes almost everything, gets that this is a great big whopper.
“Do you have an appointment?” Sparkly Earrings asks.
“It’s an emergency,” I say. “He was turning as purple as an eggplant and throwing up and seeing double. So we came right over.”
“Oh, my,” says Sparkly Earrings.
“His name is Matilda,” I continue, sitting down on the scratched red couch. “We thought he was a girl at first, that’s why he’s called Matilda. It’s not easy figuring out those kinds of things with gerbils. Of course, we couldn’t tell for sure that he was seeing double, except that he kept nibbling on an invisible garbanzo bean and an invisible carrot stick near the real garbanzo bean and carrot stick. He also smells funny.”
I figure if I give lots of details, my story will sound real and true. I learned that from my father.
I continue. “Matilda smells like pot roast. It’s weird.”
“And also pickle pancakes,” says Freddy, really getting into the blue-whopper thing. I know my brother very well. The poopy jokes will be next.
Sparkly Earrings doesn’t help matters. “Maybe Matilda ate something that’s upset his little tummy,” she says.
“Maybe,” I say, frowning at Freddy.
“He’s really poopy!” Freddy says, giggling. “Super-duper stinky poopy!”
I ignore him and try to look worried about Matilda for the both of us, easy to do because I’m worried about a real patient named Zook. And worried about my plan, too, which seems silly now, in real life. Not to mention almost impossible. The last time I’d been at the Good Samaritan Veterinary Clinic, it had been very busy. I’d felt practically invisible. It’s not busy at all today, and Freddy and I aren’t invisible.
“SUPER-DUPER STINKY POOPY!” shouts Freddy. He has his head in my lap. He’s giggling so hard, his nose is running.
“Shh,” I say. “This is a hospital.” I try to smile maturely at Sparkly Earrings. “He’s only five.”
“I understand,” she says kindly. “I have one of those five-year-olds at home.” She looks at my sweatshirt. “Go Raiders!”
Freddy sits up. “Is it visiting hours yet?” he asks her.
“There are no visiting hours, dear,” Sparkly Earrings says.
“Oona says there are.”
“There are no specific hours,” Sparkly Earrings says, and then to my great surprise, she adds, “but if Matilda is admitted you can visit him whenever you like. Within reason, of course.”
Turns out we could have visited Zook himself anytime we wanted to. I didn’t need to invent a Matilda after all. Too bad. I was sort of getting to like him.
“We want to see Zook!” says Freddy, jumping up. “Right now!”
I explain who Zook is and that he’s one of their patients, getting all his toxins flushed out because of his kidney problems.
Dog/God narrows her eyes suspiciously, just like a cop. “My, my. Your family isn’t having much luck with its pets lately,” she says.
I nod. “It’s been a bad week.”
“Mom must be having trouble finding a parking place,” Dog/God continues.
“It’s so hard to find parking in this city!” says Sparkly Earrings.
Dog/God is suspicious, but I think Sparkly Earrings believes my whoppers. It’s hard to tell. I remember that there are usually two cops at interrogations, one nice and one not-so-nice.
But then Sparkly Earrings says, “I’m sure it’s OK to visit Zook while you’re waiting for your mother and Matilda.”
She gets up to open a door in the far corner of the waiting room and waves a hand for me and Freddy to follow her. We go down a bright hallway with doors on either side. Those doors lead to the examination rooms I’d been in a few times at Zook’s regular visits. Photos of healthy-looking dogs, cats, and birds line the pink walls. They’re all so happy, they actually look as if they’re grinning into the camera. There are also photos of ratlike creatures that are gerbils, hamsters, or guinea pigs, I’m not sure which. If I really owned a Matilda I could probably tell the difference. I start worrying that Sparkly Earrings will ask me some test questions about the differences between gerbils, hamsters, and guinea pigs, but she doesn’t.
I don’t know where those happy photographs came from, because next thing you know, we’re in a large room filled with the gloomiest animals I’ve ever seen, mostly dogs and cats, each lying in its own lonely ca
ge. There’s a parrot in one cage with a bandage over its eye, looking perky and piratey, except that it’s huddled in a corner, still as a statue. The air smells like a mixture of alcohol and something like bananas, a sweet smell which seems to be trying to hide all that sadness. A tall, skinny guy with spiked purple hair is counting pills at a counter.
Suddenly, I hear Zook. I’d know his Zook yowl anywhere! He knows we’re here! I whirl around.
“Zook!” Freddy and I cry out at the same time.
We rush to his cage. Sparkly Earrings opens the cage door, reaches in for Zook, and hands him to me. “I’m going back to the front desk now. This is Boo. He’ll help you if necessary.”
Boo with the spiked hair grins at us, a friendly gap between his two front teeth. “That old guy’s sure glad to see you! Let me know when you’re done hugging him and I’ll put him back.”
We will never, ever be done hugging Zook. I bury my nose in his fur, smelling that alcohol-banana smell. Freddy strokes his nose. Right now there’s no other sound in the room except for Zook’s purr. It’s like a song I love that I haven’t heard in a while, even more beautiful than ever.
Boo is murmuring something to a little brown poodle in its cage. The dog’s stumpy tail wags feebly. Now that I’m holding Zook, the other animals don’t seem so sad anymore. Just tired and sick. There is a difference.
Actually, Zook looks much better. His eyes stare right into mine, bright and clear. His tail is high and happy. It feels like he’s gained some weight around his middle.
Now Boo is leaning way down, giving that poodle an injection.
I’ve done this smuggling stuff before. I can do it again. Smuggle in, smuggle out; same thing. It’ll only be for an hour or so, and then we’ll bring him back.
Quickly, I stretch out the front of my Raiders sweatshirt and cover Zook. I can almost hear my dad saying, “Atta girl! Go for that touchdown!” I knew there was an important reason for wearing his sweatshirt!
I put my finger to my lips. “Shh!” I whisper to Fred, who’s got that bug-eyed look again.
Slowly, slowly, Fred and I do some sidling along the wall. Boo isn’t paying attention to us. He has a lot going on. I have my hands over my sweatshirt. The door is partly open. I open it all the way with my shoulder and we step out into the hallway. How easy was that?
Except that Dog/God is waiting for us.
E-OW! EE-OWEY! EE-OW! EE-OWEY!”
I will never, ever forget Zook’s wail, that long, long, sad and disappointed wail he made when Dog/God took him away from me and Boo put him back into his cage.
Mom came to pick us up at the vet. After she’d made us both apologize to the two receptionists, all she said was, “Let’s go.”
Then …
SILENCE.
Here we are, me and Freddy, in the backseat of the car. We’re holding hands. We’re in big trouble. OK, it’s mostly me who’s in trouble, when you come right down to it. I am looking at the back of Mom’s head as she drives. Even the back of her head looks angry. Her orange curls seem coiled tighter than ever. The Villain’s beside her, fiddling with the radio.
But I don’t hear the music, or the traffic, or the air that always whistles through the back window on my side, the window that’s stuck because Mom can’t afford to fix it right now. All I can hear is Zook’s wail, even though we’re heading home and he’s back at the vet’s for more kidney flushing.
I take that back. I can hear Mom’s silence. Silence has a sound—ever notice? Mom’s silence sounds like a drum. THUMPA-THUMPA-THUMPITY-THUMPA. You can really hear it if you’re in big trouble in the backseat of her car.
We slink into our building behind Mom and the Villain. Thumpa-thumpa-thumpity-thumpa, even in the elevator going up. And also the sound of Zook’s sad EE-OWEY in my head.
The Villain clears his throat. “Need a new lightbulb in here,” he says, looking up at the elevator ceiling.
He’s right, but now isn’t the time for a lightbulb discussion. My mother frowns and looks straight ahead. The Villain puts his hand on Freddy’s head and Freddy smiles up at him.
“We saw Zook,” Freddy says. He’s already forgotten he’s in trouble.
“I know you did,” says the Villain, and lifts Freddy up. My mom and I don’t say anything.
Inside, Mom herds me to the living room couch. The Villain and Freddy go into the kitchen. It’s clear I’m the only one who has a problem here. I hear the Villain opening the fridge. Our fridge.
My mother sits in an armchair across the room, staring at me. Thumpa-thumpa-thumpity-thumpa. Finally, finally she speaks, but in a sad voice, not an angry one. All of a sudden I realize I like it better when my mom is angry.
“Oona, Oona,” she says. “What were you thinking?”
Well, that, ladies and gentlemen, is a big question. I was thinking lots of things! Dumb things, I guess. But right now I’m thinking about only three. Number one: Zook’s wail. Number two: Zook’s old collar. Mud’s collar, that is. Number three: It’s time. Time to tell my mom everything, no matter how happy she is with the Villain. She has to get over him! And she will when she learns the truth.
My mother leans toward me. “Do you realize how bad Mario feels?” she asks. “We spoke to him from the car on the way to pick you up. He trusted you, Oona. You told him you were going straight home.”
Mario.
“Oh,” I say.
“And that nice Evelyn, too.”
“Who’s Evelyn?”
“The receptionist at the vet. She trusted you, too. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble for this.”
“Oh,” I say. “Like lose her job?” If she’s the trusting one, it was Sparkly Earrings.
My mother shrugs. I hear a kettle shrieking in the kitchen.
I’m thinking that Dog/God probably snitched on Sparkly Earrings. Probably told Mom about Matilda, too. And all of a sudden, I understand that T-shirt, DOG IS GOD SPELLED BACKWARD. If God is so wonderful, like most people think God is, and if dog is God spelled backward, then dogs are pretty wonderful, too. So I’m wondering if Dog/God thinks dogs and other animals are more wonderful than people. That’s why it’s not a big deal for her to snitch on a friend. Or not trust two kids who miss their cat.
Of course, she had a reason not to trust us. But still.
“And then, miss, there’s that little matter about the money,” says my mom, looking more deep-down sorrowful than ever.
“The money?” I’m stalling. “What money?” There could be a teeny chance she doesn’t mean that money.
She does. “The money you got dancing outside O’Leary’s.”
I hear the Villain talking on the telephone as if he lives here. I feel something like a hot balloon filling up my chest.
“Who told you?” I ask. “It was the Villain, right?”
Oh, I didn’t mean to call him that! The hot balloon had suddenly burst inside of me, and out popped that name. But now that it’s out, I can tell my mother everything.
She falls back against the armchair as if I’d thrown something across the room at her. “What did you say?” she asks. “What did you say?”
But she knows. She stares at me, understanding. “His name is Dylan, Oona. Dylan. And no, it was Freddy who told me, on the way to school this morning. The money you’ve hidden in your underwear drawer.”
I jump up and go over to her chair. Now is the time. The only question is whether to tell her about the Mud collar in private, or confront the Villain with it, too. I decide to do it now, privately. We can have a good cry about the whole thing together.
“I have to tell you something important,” I say. “Very important.”
My mother doesn’t seem to hear what I’m saying. “I suppose it’s my fault,” she says. She has this faraway look in her eyes, and she’s staring at the wall like she’s watching a tear-jerking movie that only she can see. “I’ve been too lax.” She leans over and gently tugs the bottom of my Raiders sweatshirt. “It’s time to talk about your fashion
choices, too,” she says with a big sigh.
“No! We’ve already talked about that. I like my fashion choices,” I say, stepping back. No fair bringing my dad and his sweatshirt into any of this, as if any of it’s his fault!
That’s when Freddy and the Villain come into the room. The Villain puts a cup of tea on the little table beside Mom’s chair. I can smell it. Mint. There’s a slice of lemon on the saucer, sweet and sour, just the way my mom likes her tea. I don’t know how he knows that, if they’re out drinking coffee all the time. And there’s Freddy drinking a can of apricot nectar through a straw, our favorite drink, which we are only allowed to have every now and then because of the empty calories and the fake apricot from chemicals. The Villain hands me a can with a straw in it, too. I almost refuse, but I’m so thirsty. I take a few fast slurps. It goes down easy. Empty calories taste so good when you’re down in the dumps—ever notice?
Now the Villain is whispering something in my mother’s ear, lovey-dovey-like. My mother says, “Oh, I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.”
“Do what?” I ask. I hate secrets, except, of course, if I’m the one keeping them. I know that sounds babyish, but that’s the way I feel right now.
The Villain says, “Terri, I think it will be a good thing.”
“Let’s talk about it in the car. I’ll ask Dee to sit,” she says. Her mouth is a firm, straight line as she phones my gramma to come over.
“Talk about what?” I ask when she gets off the phone.
My mother looks at me for a few seconds. She opens her mouth to say something, then changes her mind. The buzzer rings. Gramma Dee. Mom takes a few gulps of mint tea and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nothing,” she says. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
I can’t help myself. I stare straight at the Villain with cop eyes, and out of my mouth come a bunch of big caps. “HIS REAL NAME’S MUD!” I yell.
The Villain’s own eyes look hurt, not like the eyes of a guilty person ready to confess. Of course, he’s probably a trained actor. Singer-guitar players often are.
The Five Lives of Our Cat Zook Page 7