“Where are Brenna and Maggie?” I ask.
“We’re meeting them over at Town Center,” he says.
I grab my flashlight and we begin walking. Up the road I see Maggie and Brenna. They’re talking to one of the girls from our mask-making class. Maggie’s dressed in her veterinarian costume, which is made up of scrubs, a surgical mask, a stethoscope, and a stuffed dog. Brenna is dressed as a hippie from the sixties, complete with daisy-print bell-bottom pants and a band around her forehead. They haven’t noticed us yet.
David and I are just about to turn the corner when I spot something ahead of us on the road. I can’t see it that well, but I can tell it’s an animal. Its legs are pumping and it can’t seem to get up. “An animal’s been hurt!” I yell.
David runs with me, but I get there first.
“Oh, no!” I cry. “It’s the black stray!” Blood trickles from its mouth, and its eyes are wide with fear.
Chapter Twelve
The black stray lets out a horrible yowl. David kneels down to pick it up. “No!” I shout to stop him. “If the cat has broken bones, scooping it up might cause more damage. And it’s frightened—it might scratch or bite you.” I remember Dr. Mac telling us how animals go into shock and need to be kept warm. Covering them helps them stay warm and feel calmer. “Cover it with your cape,” I tell David. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Two houses away, a woman is at her door giving candy bars to trick-or-treaters. I rush up to her. “A cat’s been hit by a car. Do you have a box I could use?”
The woman reaches under the table by her door and pulls out a medium-sized box that still has some wrapped candy in it. She dumps the candy onto the table and hands me the box. “Wait one second,” she says as she digs through a basket sitting by the door and pulls out a pair of leather gardening gloves. “We’ll take these, too,” she says, handing them to me. “I’m coming with you.”
“Thanks so much,” I tell her as I lead her back to the cat.
When I get there, Maggie and Brenna have joined David. “How will we get it into the box without lifting it?” David asks.
I tear down one side of the box so that it lies flat on the road. I put on the gardening gloves, carefully lift the cat onto David’s cape, and slide it into the box. Then we put the open side back up.
The cat has stopped moving. Fearing the worst, I touch its side, and it meows in a small voice. Good. It’s alive.
The woman gives us a lift back to the clinic. I keep the cat covered, resting my hands lightly on the cloth the whole ride. The rise and fall of the cat’s breath lets me know it’s still alive.
“Good luck,” the woman says as we climb out of the car at the clinic. We thank her and hurry inside the front door. Dr. Mac is sitting in the kitchen, reading.
“Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” she asks when she sees us rush in.
“A cat’s been hit,” I say as I place the box on the table. She pulls back David’s cape to see the hurt cat. Its eyes are half open. She hurries it into the Herriot Room with the four of us alongside her.
Leaving the cat in the box, she places it on the examining table. “Do you know who owns this cat?”
“I don’t think anyone owns it,” I say. “But Michaela—the woman who gives the mask-making classes—has been feeding it.”
Dr. Mac asks me to hold the cat steady while she looks at its injuries.
“It’s good that you moved it so carefully,” Dr. Mac comments as she feels the cat’s body gently but firmly. Then Dr. Mac squeezes the cat’s rear toes. The cat doesn’t seem to have any feeling, even though Dr. Mac is now pinching them very hard. “But I’m not sure we can save it,” Dr. Mac tells us. “I think this cat may have a broken back. I’ll X-ray it to be sure.”
Dr. Mac takes the cat into the X-ray room. A few minutes later she comes in to show us the X-rays. She places them on a lighted view box.
“It’s a broken back all right,” says Dr. Mac as she points out the breaks.
“What can we do to help the cat?” I ask.
Dr. Mac sighs. “This is one of those difficult decisions vets hate to make. In my opinion, the kindest thing would be to give it a painkiller and put it to sleep.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Maggie asks.
“There are some procedures I could try, but I really believe they would be pointless, and we’d be prolonging this animal’s suffering.”
I remember Dr. Mac telling me how hard this part of her job is for her.
“I guess that’s what we have to do, then,” Brenna says sadly. The rest of us nod.
“You kids can go. I’ll take care of this,” Dr. Mac tells us.
We walk out of the room together. At the reception desk, I call Michaela. I get her answering machine. “I just thought you might want to know that the black stray has been hit by a car. Dr. Mac can’t help it, so she’s going to put it to sleep.” As I say the last words, my voice cracks.
“I’m going to go home,” David says. Obviously, he’s lost the Halloween spirit. “See you all in the morning.”
Brenna, Maggie, and I stand in the front lobby just looking at one another. Brenna speaks first. “I just don’t know how Dr. Mac does it.”
“Gran hates putting down animals,” Maggie says.
“It’s hard on her,” I say. “It isn’t easy to know what’s right when it comes to things like this.”
“Listen, Sunita,” Brenna says. “I’ve been pretty hard on you. Maybe I didn’t really think about everything that’s involved when you work with animals. I mean, it’s more complicated than I realized. And I know you really do care about animals. I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “I’ve been confused by it all, too. So we’re friends again?”
“Definitely,” Brenna replies.
Just at that moment, Michaela rushes in. Maggie and Brenna stare at her, wide-eyed. She’s dressed as a witch with a pointed hat and a cloak. She’s even got a witch’s broom in her hand.
I smile, thinking of how freaked out my friends must be by the sight of her. “Hey, kids,” she greets them.
“Hi,” they say.
“I got your message, Sunita,” she says. “I thought you might want some company. But I see you have some.” She shivers and draws her witch cloak around herself more closely. “It’s getting cold out there,” she comments.
“I could make us some hot cocoa or tea,” Maggie offers.
“Tea would be lovely,” Michaela replies.
“I’ll help,” says Brenna as she and Maggie head toward the kitchen.
Michaela and I sit together quietly in the lobby for a few minutes. “How are you doing with your lab work?” she asks after a while.
“I quit,” I told her. “I couldn’t take it.”
Michaela nods. “You didn’t like it?”
The question surprises me because—strange as it seems—I did like it. “Some things about it, yes. I think it’s interesting the way the researchers make an educated guess about what might work and then go about testing their idea.”
“I think so, too. I studied chemistry in college,” she says.
“You did? Not art?” I ask.
“I wanted to be a biochemist. I liked the work, but I discovered I loved art. It was one of my shifts. I still use chemistry, though. Thanks to what I learned about chemistry, I can make some unusual dyes and paints to use in my art.”
“I never would have thought those things were connected,” I say.
Michaela looks at me. “Don’t worry, Sunita, you’ll find your way. There’s a lot to you, and it isn’t always easy for a complex person to find her way. Eventually your path will become clear. I’m sure of it.”
Maggie and Brenna return with cups of tea on a tray. The four of us sit and drink it. No one says much. I think we’re all too sad about the black stray to talk.
“You all seem so at home here,” Michaela comments as she rises to leave.
; “This is Maggie’s home,” Brenna comments.
“Yes, but you and Sunita also seem to fit right in,” Michaela says.
I realize she’s right. Dr. Mac’s Place has been like a second home to me. I wonder—do I still belong here?
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Dr. Mac steps out of the Herriot Room with Mittens in her arms. “Finally! She’s doing beautifully!” she announces, handing Mittens to me.
I nuzzle her. Mittens licks my nose. Her eyes are bright again, just the way I remember.
“You did well with that stray last night,” Dr. Mac says to me. “You treated her for shock, moved her as gently as possible, and got her here quickly. Thanks to you, Sunita, that cat spent her last moments on earth sedated and reasonably pain free. That was much better than dying in agony on the side of the road.”
I guess I did know what to do.
“Brenna told me you’ve quit AVM. Does this mean you’ll give us more of your time? Will you come back and work with us?”
“Do you really think I should?” I ask.
“I know you’ve been having doubts lately about your ability to work with animals. So I just want to tell you that I think you’d make a wonderful veterinarian. You have that unique combination—a deep compassion for animals and a good head for science. You’ve got what it takes, Sunita.” She smiles and gets up, just as a woman walks in carrying a big iguana in a cage.
Maggie comes into the reception area holding a box. “Michaela dropped this off for you this morning,” she says, handing it to me.
I open the box. Inside is an incredible clay mask Michaela has made of a tiger. Its fur is painted bright gold, with shiny black stripes on top. Its almond-shaped eyes are rimmed with black. There is a note in the box. It reads: Your fierce passion for animals enabled you to help the black cat. I’m sure she understood and appreciated your kindness. There are many kinds of help. Love, Michaela. P.S. I was thinking about you and a picture of a tiger came to my mind. I made this mask in the hope that when you look at it, you will be reminded of how at least one friend sees you.
I get the pre-crying nose tingle. But I’m not sad, just moved by the gift and Michaela’s words. There are many kinds of help. I picture the animals over at AVM Labs. They need help, too, even if it is only helping them have comfortable last days. I wonder if Julie will let me work there again. Perhaps I could work here and at the lab, on alternating days.
I decide to call Julie this afternoon and ask her.
Mittens climbs onto my shoulder, purring in my ear. I look down at the tiger mask. It’s something I’ll always treasure and keep near me—a reminder of the inner spirit I want to grow strong inside me.
A Witch’s Best Friend
* * *
By J.J. MACKENZIE, D.V.M.
* * *
Wild World News—Halloween is a time to try on a spooky new persona—a ghost or goblin, a monster or witch…and, of course, a witch’s famous best friend: the black cat. Cats have appeared in myths and legends about witchcraft dating all the way back to the ancient Greeks.
One Greek myth told of a woman named Galenthias who was turned into a cat and then became a priestess of Hecate, the patron goddess of witchcraft. This myth led the way for hundreds of other folktales and stories about women turning into cats. Usually these cat-women were assumed to have magical powers. The black cat is most often associated with witches, but cats of every stripe and spot qualify as a witch’s “familiar.”
Going on a Witch Hunt for Cats. Back in seventh-century England, causing storms and other disturbances through witchcraft was a crime punishable by death. Sailors began keeping cats on board ships in order to win favor with witches, whom they believed caused storms. The cats’ real benefit to sailors was much more practical—they ate any mice or rats that had snuck into the ships’ food stores!
The cat eventually lost its charm, though. By the twelfth century, people thought cats could do black magic, just as they thought the witches could, and they began killing cats in large numbers. The rapid spread of the bubonic plague—a deadly disease that killed millions during the Middle Ages—came about partly because so many cats were killed. These cats would ordinarily have been killing rodents, which often spread the contagious disease. Without the cats to keep the mouse and rat population down, the rodents roamed from home to home, bringing bubonic plague with them.
* * *
CATS HELPED STOP THE SPREAD OF BUBONIC PLAGUE
* * *
The witch hunt came to America in the 1600s. Many innocent women were accused of being witches. These women were burned at the stake for their supposed crimes. Not only were the women killed, but their cats were also put into baskets and burned along with them, because people believed the cats had evil powers, too.
Stopping Superstition. Through the years, people have slowly become less superstitious. For the most part, the witch and her cat have become fun figures that remind us of past folklore. Still, cats today are at risk around Halloween. Believe it or not, there are people who use Halloween as an excuse to hunt or kidnap cats, much as people did in the old days, when belief in witches was common. Many shelters and humane societies refuse to adopt cats out during October, just to make sure the cats aren’t being adopted by someone who intends to harm them. If you own a cat, it’s best to keep your pet inside at night during the last week or two of October.
* * *
KEEP CATS INDOORS THE LAST TWO WEEKS OF OCTOBER
* * *
Your cat’s natural curiosity means you need to help her stay safe indoors, too. Make sure your jack-o’-lantern is out of your cat’s reach so she won’t be tempted to play with the flame inside. Consider decorating the outside of your house with pumpkins instead of having lit jack-o’-lanterns inside.
In addition, keep your cat in an inner room on Halloween night. (Remember to supply a dish of water and a litter box.) That way she won’t dart outside as you give goodies to trick-or-treaters!
Tips for keeping all pets safe on Halloween
* * *
• Don’t feed trick-or-treat candies to pets. Chocolate is poisonous to a lot of animals. The foil and cellophane candy wrappers can also be hazardous if your pet swallows them.
• Keep your pet at home when you go trick-or-treating. Crowds and costumes can be scary for animals.
• Don’t dress your cat, dog, or any other pet in a costume if it resists it. Forcing your pet into a costume can put a lot of stress on the animal.
• If you do dress up your pet, make sure the costume lets the animal move easily and see clearly. Keep your pet in the costume only long enough to snap a few pictures.
Turn the page to read a sample of the next book in the Vet Volunteers series…
End of the Race
Chapter One
Hi, Maggie! Are you working at the clinic this afternoon? I’ll walk with you.” Sunita taps my shoulder as the school bus pushes us through the first heavy snowstorm of the new year.
I turn to her in the seat behind me. She’s wearing a purple parka, her favorite color. “Sure,” I say.
When the bus grinds to a halt, we jump off and tromp through the sparkly drifts to Dr. Mac’s Place, my grandmother’s veterinary clinic, where Sunita and I volunteer along with some of our friends. I live with Gran—or Dr. Mac, as everyone else calls her—in the house attached to the clinic. It’s great getting to care for animals every day.
“How come you’re taking the late bus?” asks Sunita. “Were you studying at the library? I didn’t see you there.”
“Me, at the library? You must be kidding.” Even though I’m doing better in school since my science teacher, Mr. Carlson, helped me map out a study plan last year, the library is still the last place you’ll find me. “I just finished basketball practice. Sunita, you should have seen it—Darla almost breathed fire when Coach Williams put me in as center. She even elbowed me when the coach wasn’t looking and said I was too short to play that position. Can you b
elieve that? I’ve always played center.” I form a snowball, leap up, and hurl it over a branch. “Jump shot!”
“Center was Darla’s regular position at her old school, right?” Sunita is more into books than basketball, but even she’s heard that Darla Stone, a new girl at Ambler Middle School, considers herself the star player. I nod yes. “Proceed with caution,” Sunita warns.
“Guess so,” I agree. Sunita wouldn’t steer me wrong. She always has the right answer.
“Who are the new patients at the clinic?” Sunita asks. “I missed two whole weeks because of winter break.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me that Christmas vacation’s already over.” I make a face. “Let’s see, there are some dogs and kittens still boarding. Gran dewormed the kittens today. They’re sooo cute.”
“Kitties! How many?” Sunita’s a cat person. Cal-ico, Siamese, domestic shorthair, bring them on!
“Four,” I reply. “There’s also a guinea pig named Podge. He has slobbers.”
“Sounds awful. What’s that?” asks Sunita. She tears open a bag of pretzels and offers me one.
I grab one in my gloved hand and toss it in the air. “Basket!” I catch it in my mouth, along with a bunch of snowflakes. “Slobbers is a condition where the guinea pig can’t close his mouth because his teeth have grown too long. I hate to think of Podge not being able to eat properly, or even to shut his mouth.”
“Can Dr. Mac trim his teeth?” Sunita asks.
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