Саманта Сильвер: Barking Up The Wrong Tree

“Fine, have it your way,” I muttered. “Guard the entrance,” I told Kate and Sophie, and I went into the room. Missy jumped onto the scale and tried to jump over me, but unfortunately she didn’t quite make it high enough. I grabbed her in mid-air and fought the scratches and howls coming my way, placing the kitten into the carrier that Kate had so nicely prepared for her; there was even a nice memory foam pillow on the bottom, in a case that I was pretty sure Kate had made herself.

When Missy was finally, safely in the carrier, I let out a huge sigh and leaned against the wall.

“Kittens are so undignified,” I heard Bee murmur from the bed she still hadn’t moved from. Sometimes my pretty little black cat liked being involved in the action, sometimes she just didn’t want anything to disturb her sleep. This was one of the latter days, apparently. Thankfully.

“Thank you so much,” Kate told me and Sophie. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Missy did all that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told Kate, managing a smile. “That’s what kittens do, they get into trouble.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Kate replied, laughing. “She just has so much energy.”

“Have you ever considered a second kitten?” I asked. “There’s a popular saying that if you’re going to get one kitten, get two. They’ll tire each other out.”

“Yeah, that’s what we need, is a second Missy,” Sophie muttered, and I stepped on her foot on purpose. “Ow!” she shot, giving me a glare.

Kate looked at my thoughtfully. “You know, I know the animal shelter still has two of her siblings up for adoption. You might be right, I think I’ll go over there today and see if I fall in love with one of them as well.”

I left Kate to settle up the bill with Karen, and Sophie and I went over to deal with the six dogs who needed shots, and the one who was going to stay overnight for a spaying as well. I was planning on doing the surgery that afternoon, when I had a few hours free.

“We are so stopping at the liquor store before going home,” Sophie told me as we headed towards the back. “I need a drink so bad right now, I’m pretty sure by tonight I’m going to need to be black-out drunk if this day keeps going the way it is.”

I laughed. “I know what you mean. Surely this day can’t get even more insane.”

Little did I know just how wrong I was.

Chapter 2

The one saving grace was that I’d planned on meeting my sister Charlotte for a late lunch at Betty’s Café, a cute little café/bakery a little ways down the main street of Willow Bay. Willow Bay was a small village on the Oregon coast, about an hour from Portland. We were definitely a tourist town, with one main street and about six thousand permanent residents. Every year, in summer especially, people flocked from Portland, the rest of Oregon, and even Washington and California to enjoy sitting on the beach under the willow trees, wiling the days away and sometimes even getting to see a few surfers on days with big surges. I’d grown up in Willow Bay, and while I went to veterinary school in Seattle, I had always planned on coming back, and I did. After all, Willow Bay was home. It might not have been perfect, but I absolutely loved it here.

Three hours after the adventure with Missy we had given all the Maynard dogs their vaccines, given X-rays to a black lab called Puffy who was what I liked to call an adventurous eater – this time the X-ray showed six whole extra-large muffins, paper wrapper included – and spayed Lottie, the youngest of the Maynard dog clan, who was happily resting and being checked on by Sophie.

I barely had the energy to change out of my scrubs and make my way down to Betty’s, but I did it, and when I got there I collapsed into the chair at the corner table across from where my sister Charlotte was sitting.

Charlotte was my little sister, but we looked nothing alike. She had beautiful blonde hair that reached her shoulders, with just a slight curl to it, and skin so pale she looked like an English rose. It would have been impossible from looking at her to guess that our mom had Italian roots.

Charlotte was also incredibly book smart. Currently finishing off her second year of medical school in Portland, an hour’s drive away from Willow Bay, she was most comfortable when researching things. She also wasn’t taking any time off; even in the summer semester she was taking classes, although she was “only” doing two of them.

I wasn’t a total idiot, after all they don’t give veterinary degrees to absolutely anyone who walks in off the street, but Charlotte was off-the-charts smart. And I loved her more than anything in the whole world.

When I was four years old and Charlotte was six months old, our parents were killed in a car accident coming back from an anniversary dinner. Their best friend, Lisa, who also happened to be Sophie’s mom, took us in and raised us as her own, but I still felt like it was my duty to take care of Charlotte, being her only biological family and all. We didn’t have anyone else.

“Fun day at the office?” Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow as I struggled to move back into a socially acceptable seated position.

“Don’t even get me started,” I replied. “If I ever complain that Bee’s a little bit too crazy, please remind me that cats like Missy exist.”

Charlotte laughed. “Well, lucky for you I already ordered us BLTs, so you don’t need to go up to the counter and order.”

“Have I ever told you you’re my favourite person in the whole wide world?” I asked Charlotte, who grinned in reply.

“I know you said not to get me started, but I’m curious.”

I told Charlotte everything that had happened that morning, from Milo coming in with the injured paw to the adventure with Missy.

“Luckily everything after that went pretty smoothly, because I’m not sure how much more crazy I would be able to take today,” I finished.

“Wow. And here I was going to tell you about how some students managed to screw up a chemistry experiment. They accidentally set up the buret incorrectly and sent a whole bunch of hot liquid everywhere. I still think your story is better.”

I laughed. “Nope, that one’s pretty good,” I replied. I thought back to my own days of doing chemistry and how sometimes I thought it wouldn’t take much for something to go wrong. Nothing ever had while I was there, luckily.

“I’m not sure it’s better, but one of the guys had some land in his hair and it burnt it all down to his scalp. He had to use the emergency chemical burn tap and then got sent straight to the hospital.”

“Wow! That’s actually serious!” I said.

“Yeah, well, the professor said he’s probably not going to suffer any sort of long term damage, other than the psychological scarring that comes with learning chemistry safety lessons the hard way.”

“That’s good.”

“Definitely.”

Just then, Betty came over with our sandwiches and a side of fries. Betty McMahon was a kindly old woman in her 60s, who had decided that when she was finished teaching elementary school, rather than retire she would rather live out her dreams of running a little bakery. And oh boy was she ever good at it. Betty’s treats were known around the state, and people driving from Portland down south were known to detour well out of their way to stop in Willow Bay and get a taste of Betty’s amazing little treats.

And she also made BLTs that were to die for. Thick sourdough bread, fresh lettuce and tomato, thick cut bacon – she always made mine with a vegetarian version - and the perfect amount of slightly spicy mayonnaise, grilled to perfection. This was one of my favourite treats in the whole town. And of course, the thick cut fries were a nice bonus as well.