Trying hard to focus on the blank sheet of paper in front of her, Gaby felt their eyes burn into her skin. Were they still looking at her? She glanced up in time to see Rosa, one of the most popular girls in school, say something to them. The scowls stopped. Whatever Rosa said must have been severe, because Dolores and Jan turned back to their books and the rest of the girls followed. Gaby was relieved.
At the shelter, Lemon, the small yellow kitten that attacked her hair, would jump and hide under its blanket whenever a dog barked. That’s how Gaby felt whenever Dolores and Jan looked her way. She picked up her pen and began a list of other things she had observed about the young male cat. Lemon arrived as a newborn to the shelter with a litter of siblings. If you had long hair, beware! Lemon was bound to chew on it like it was spaghetti. Still, he was a sweet kitten that loved to be scratched behind the ears. Gaby decided it was best to leave out the hair-chewing bit. Next, she wrote a list of things that were yellow like Lemon. A gold coin. A field of wheat. The sun. An ear of corn. Within minutes, she had finished her first profile.
“My dad’s here,” Gaby gasped. Her father’s old blue truck was parked in the front of Alma’s house.
“Yeah,” Mrs. Gomez said from the driver’s seat. “We invited him over to discuss things.”
Gaby knew exactly what those “things” were. “Things” meant Gaby’s living arrangements. When everyone realized that Gaby’s mom was not going to be released by immigration and that, in fact, she was going to be deported to Honduras, Alma’s family offered to take care of Gaby full-time. After all, Gaby had never been close to her father. Her parents never married, and her dad moved out when Gaby was in elementary school. After that, her father only came around twice a year: Gaby’s birthday and Christmas. Sometimes he barely made those occasions. But when he heard about Gaby’s mom being deported, he decided to move back into the house. It was in Gaby’s best interest, he said, that she stay in her home with family.
For Gaby, it might as well have been a stranger off the street moving in. He knew nothing about her or how to take care of a daughter. Gaby learned to take care of herself. She went to bed when she wanted, woke herself up for school, combed and styled her hair, made her own breakfast — usually instant hot chocolate and a slice of toast with peanut butter — and cleaned up any mess her father left in the house. Weekends were spent at Alma’s house, where she had her own bed and did laundry.
Inside, Gaby’s dad and Mr. Gomez sat at the kitchen table. Alma’s father had always gotten along with Gaby’s father and even helped him find work with local construction projects or within his own company, but no job lasted long. Gaby’s dad complained that his bosses were jerks and everyone around him was a “nut job.”
Gaby sat across from her father at the table. “I didn’t hear you come home last night or see you this morning,” she said. “What time did you get home?”
Her father ran his hands along his unshaven face and looked down. She wondered if anyone meeting them both for the first time would even suspect that they were father and daughter. He was blond with blue eyes and she had her mother’s dark eyes and wavy brown hair.
“Nah, got off work late last night, decided it made no sense to drive all the way home only to turn right around.” He rotated his head until his neck popped. “I slept in the truck.”
Gaby caught Alma exchange a glance of disbelief with her mom. She felt a lump in her throat. She was used to her father’s dismissive answers and excuses for coming home late, forgetting that she needed food, and not paying the electricity bill, but still, it embarrassed her a little. Gaby searched his face for a sign of remorse until he looked up and gave her a slight apologetic smile from under his ball cap. She lowered her head and decided not to say anything else.
“Mr. Howard, did Gaby tell you about our volunteer project at school?” Alma interrupted the tense silence.
Gaby’s father took a swig from his glass of lemonade. “No, what volunteer project?”
“How could you not know, Jeff!” Alma’s mother laughed. “You had to sign a permission slip.”
His face contorted like he was trying to remember signing a permission slip. Gaby shot a worried look at Alma. For an entire week, she had left the permission slip on the table. He never signed it. On the day it was due, Gaby had no choice but to have Marcos forge her father’s name.
“It’s our school’s required community service,” Gaby said. “I’m writing profiles for all of the cats and dogs at an animal shelter. Would you like to hear one?” Gaby dug into her book bag and pulled out her notebook. She was anxious to get his mind off the permission slip. “I can read one —”
“Maybe later. I got to get going.” Her father got up from the table.
“Already?” Gaby asked.
“I got this job, Gaby. And it’s my turn to drive the guys tonight.”
Gaby frowned. She had no idea who these “guys” were. She had no clue where he was working or what he was doing all day and night. He never bothered to tell her, and she’d stopped asking.
“That’s actually why we wanted to talk, Jeff.” Mr. Gomez stood up, too. “It’s been three months and we know you’re trying your best, but maybe you’ve changed your mind about allowing Gaby to stay with us full-time until things are more stable for you. What do you think?”
Gaby’s father tugged his cap like he wished he could cover his entire face with it.
“You know I appreciate the offer. Heck, I appreciate everything you guys do for Gaby. But I think we’re doing fine. Right, Gaby?” He shrugged.
She stared down at her notebook and unraveled the coil that held the pages in place. “Yeah, but …”
Her father shook his head. “I mean it’s not ideal that your mom isn’t here to take care of you, but she calls. You guys talk. You’re doing okay.”
Gaby swallowed hard. She wished she had the courage to tell her father that she wanted to stay with Alma’s family. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Just until her mom returned home?
“Well, we can talk about this later. I got to go.” Her father fiddled with his keys. “I know I don’t have to tell you to stay out of trouble, but stay out of trouble, Gaby.” He pressed a five-dollar bill into her hand and patted her head. Gaby winced and stuffed the flimsy bill into her front pocket. Good thing she got free lunch at school. Five dollars wouldn’t go far.
As Alma’s parents walked her father to the door, Gaby opened her notebook. “That went well,” she scoffed. She regretted not telling him that she wanted to stay with Alma’s family. Gaby clicked her pen and wrote her name at the top of a blank page. “Maybe I should write an adoption flyer for myself.”
“Hmmmmm,” Alma said. “Something like this: ‘Eleven-year-old St. Ann’s scholar, loves gold glitter, math and science class —’”
“Looking for a home where I can have a cat like Feather and a —” Gaby stopped writing. She drew a breath and held it, staring down at the three-letter word she had scribbled. She wasn’t looking for a new mom. She had a mom. And once her mom came home, there would be no more being left alone at night or forging permission slips. And especially no more sleeping on the couch with the phone under her pillow. Things would be back to normal as soon as her mom was home. She exhaled finally and scratched out “a mom” with her pen.
“What’s wrong?” Alma asked.
“Nothing, I was just thinking I could sprinkle gold glitter all over my profile for added bling.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, you’re right, maybe silver glitter would be better.” Gaby shut her notebook.
After a few seconds, the girls heard Marcos and Enrique at the front door, asking Alma’s mom for permission to visit. Alma double-rolled her eyes. Marcos and Enrique always tried to be polite around Alma’s parents, but the girls knew better. These were boys who cursed while playing Xbox and talked smack on the basketball court.
“Quick, play dead! Maybe they’ll go away.” Alma slumped in her chair, closed her
eyes, and stuck out her tongue. Gaby followed.
“The boys are here.” Alma’s mom ushered Enrique and Marcos into the kitchen. “Stop playing dead and be nice,” she giggled.
“Hide your jewelry, Mom!” Alma sprang up.
Marcos pulled Alma’s long ponytail and mocked her. “Hide your jewelry, Mom.”
Before leaving the kitchen, Alma’s mom put a bowl of grapes on the table. Enrique and Marcos grabbed fistfuls and devoured them.
“You guys are about as well trained as the dogs at the shelter,” Alma said.
“Alma, have any dogs bitten you for being mean yet?” Enrique bared his teeth and growled.
She growled back.
“What are you guys writing?” Marcos popped some grapes in his mouth.
“I’m writing profiles for the dogs and cats at the shelter,” Gaby said. “Want to see one?” She flipped through her notebook, stopped on the profile for Secret, and slid it to him. Secret was a kitten that hid its food and toys under its blanket as if trying to keep them from the other cats. When these things were discovered by the staff, Secret’s ears perked up in surprise as if he was saying, “How on earth did that get there?”
Marcos wiped his mouth with his hand, grabbed the notebook, and stood up. “And now it’s time for a story about a cat named Secret,” he said in a phony high-pitched British accent. Enrique and Alma laughed as Marcos began. Gaby shook her head. This was not going to be good.
When Marcos finished, Gaby snatched her notebook from him. “You’re never allowed to read my profiles again.”
“Suit yourself.” Marcos shrugged. “Do they have any big, vicious dogs that can be trained to kill zombies?”
“Stop being dumb.” Alma shook her head. “Most of the animals there were abused and abandoned. They’re not vicious. Of course, I found the smelliest and wildest mutt in the shelter.” Alma took out her cell phone and showed them Spike’s photo. “I’m going to train him to be the best-behaved dog in the world.”
“Train him to kill zombies and my Uncle John-John will give you fifty dollars for him.” Enrique smirked.
Alma rolled her eyes. “Not happening.”
“There is a cat there that’s all skin and bones,” Gaby said. “She’s sick. Right, Alma?”
“Yeah, they named her Feather because when she was brought to the shelter, she was as light as one.”
“Well, if she’s real sick,” Marcos said, “the shelter will put her to sleep, you know.”
“Dr. V. never mentioned anything about putting cats to sleep,” Gaby protested.
“Earth to Gaby, that’s what they do at those shelters,” Marcos said, earning a sharp kick from Alma under the table. “Ouch! That’s what happens — I’m just sayin’.” Rubbing his leg, he glared at Alma. “You don’t scare me.”
Enrique pulled his long legs up onto his chair to avoid a kick. “You totally scare me, Alma, but Marcos is right. If that cat is seriously sick, they’ll put it to —” Alma pinched his arm. “Ouch!” He yelped.
Gaby chewed a fingernail and looked over at Alma with alarm.
“Don’t listen to them, Gaby.” Alma raised her finger to make her point. “The shelter is called ‘Furry Friends,’ not ‘Dead Furry Friends.’”
The boys erupted into snickers and snorts.
“Yeah, that would be an excellent name for an animal shelter, Alma,” said Marcos. “Too bad they didn’t think of that.” Marcos stuck his tongue out at her.
“Such a nice ring … Dead Furry Friends Animal Shelter … so warm and comforting,” added Enrique.
Alma crossed her arms. “Ignore them, Gaby,” she said. “They have no clue.”
Gaby didn’t say anything more, but she was big-time worried. Would Dr. Villalobos put the sick animals to sleep to make room for others? Sick animals like Feather? That night, when Gaby said her prayers on the couch, she asked God to bless her mom and to help her save all of the animals at the shelter.
Furry Friends Animal Shelter bustled with excitement. A couple had arrived to adopt a cat. The girls took the cats out of their cages one by one to show the couple. Pouncer, a small yellow kitten, loved to sit on the window ledge and swat at flies. Secret, the fluffy black kitten with the white paws, loved peacock feathers. Coco, the brown-and-white cat, purred whenever classical music played. As the couple pet and played with each feline presented to them, Gaby approached them.
Mr. Villalobos had told her that older cats usually spent their whole lives in shelters without ever having a real home because people preferred kittens. This saddened Gaby.
“How would you feel about an older cat that goes wild for catnip?” she asked the couple.
“Goes wild for catnip, you say?” The man pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“Yes, but not too wild. Older cats, in general, are better behaved,” Gaby added.
“You obviously don’t know my wife very well.” He smirked. His wife giggled and pressed a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear.
“What Gaby means is that mature cats don’t run around all crazy like these kittens,” Alma said. As if on cue, Pouncer leaped out of one of the girls’ arms and tackled a tissue on the floor. After a few seconds, strands of tissue dangled from Pouncer’s mouth. “See what I mean?” The couple raised their eyebrows and nodded.
It was the signal Gaby needed to grab Willow, an eight-year-old cat with intense blue eyes and a dark gray coat.
“Look at old blue eyes!” The man took Willow from Gaby. He ran his hands over Willow’s head and back. The cat let out a soft, satisfied mew. The couple exchanged a big smile.
“I think you guys are a purrrr-fect match!” Gaby clasped her hands. Alma gave her a thumbs-up. That cat was as good as gone.
After Daisy helped the new owners complete adoption papers, the girls ran outside to see them off. Dr. Villalobos and Gaby were the last two still waving until the couple’s car was no longer in view.
“That cat is off to a brand-new start!” Dr. Villalobos beamed.
“One down, Dr. V.,” she said. They walked to the back of the shelter together, where her classmates were playing with the dogs.
“With your profiles,”— he pointed at the notebook she carried under her arm —“maybe we’ll be waving adios every day,” he said. “Whose profile are you working on now?”
“I’d like to write one for Feather, but I need to spend some time with her to —”
“About Feather …” Dr. V. interrupted. “You might want to consider another cat or dog.”
Gaby stopped walking. “What? Why? Is she okay?”
Dr. Villalobos turned to face her. “She may not be adoptable after all. Maybe you can write about Finch or Bonita?”
“Whenever I was sick, my mom used to sing to me in Spanish. It helped. I could sing for Feather.”
Dr. Villalobos put his hand on Gaby’s shoulder. “Good idea, but it’s nothing like that.” He started to walk away.
“Dr. Villalobos!” Gaby shouted, stopping Dr. V. in his tracks.
He stepped toward her. “Something wrong, Gaby?”
Gaby didn’t realize how loud she’d yelled until she noticed that her classmates and even a few dogs were staring at her. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.” She lowered her voice. “It’s just there’s no reason to put Feather to sleep. She’s a good cat. If I could adopt her, I would right now.”
Dr. V. crossed his arms across his chest and smiled.
“It’s just my dad doesn’t like cats. And my mom … well, it’s a long story, but I don’t think you should be putting cats to sleep. That’s all.”
“Gaby, you got it all wrong. Furry Friends is a no-kill animal shelter. We don’t put any of our animals to sleep.”
Gaby exhaled. “Oh … then why can’t I write Feather’s profile?”
“I got a call from a man looking for his cat. He described a cat exactly like Feather.”
“He wants to claim her? But you said her owners left her at a rest stop. What kind of person
leaves their cat and then wants it back weeks later?”
He patted her shoulder and smiled. “I knew I had the right person working on these profiles. I could tell by how you held Feather that first day that you were a natural animal lover.”
“I learned it from my mom. She loves animals, too.”
“Well, I’m counting on you to keep writing those profiles, okay?” He winked at her and walked toward the clinic.
“Poor Feather,” Gaby whispered. It wasn’t fair. Feather deserved better than people who left her at a rest stop. She marched after Dr. V. to tell him so when Alma called her name, interrupting her mission. Alma was sitting on the grass with Spike and a brown pug/beagle mix named Puck. The two dogs stopped gnawing on each other’s ears and looked up as Gaby approached.
Alma looked concerned about the conversation she’d just seen between Gaby and Dr. V.
“Are you okay, Gaby?”
“I asked Dr. V. about putting animals to sleep like Marcos said last night,” Gaby explained.
“You’re listening to Marcos now?” Alma grabbed her head with her hands. “Marcos thinks he’s going to make a living jumping his bike through fiery hoops in Las Vegas.”
“I know, I just had to know for sure.”
“What did Dr. V. say?”
“He said the shelter was a no-kill shelter.”
“Feel better?”
“Sort of.” Gaby sat down on the grass. She still didn’t like the idea of Feather returning to her former owners. Anyone who abandoned their pet like that shouldn’t be allowed to reclaim it so easily.
“Good. Check out what I taught Spike and Puck.” Alma called both dogs. “Sit,” Alma ordered. Both dogs sat up. Alma’s voice was so powerful that even Gaby sat up straighter. “Shake hands.” Puck and Spike both raised a paw.
“Wow, Alma! How did you teach them so fast?” Gaby shook their paws. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Puck. Mucho gusto, Mr. Spike!”
“Obviously, I’ve had a lot of practice training Enrique and Marcos.” Alma picked up Puck. He surprised her with a few quick licks that went up her nose. “So gross!” She flinched and put him down fast. She wiped her nose with her sleeve.
Gaby, Lost and Found Page 3