Миранда Джеймс: Arsenic And Old Books

“Exam room number three, please,” the young man said. “Just up there to your right.”

I preceded him a few feet down the narrow hallway to the room he indicated and stepped inside. He followed me in and moved around to the other side of a stainless steel examination table.

“Let’s have him up here.” The veterinary assistant patted the tabletop.

I set the cat down, the towel under him, and the assistant began to examine him.

“Seems to be in good shape,” he said after a moment. “He’s been eating regularly. Where was it you found him?”

“In the shrubs at the public library,” I said. “He darted under my car when I was about to leave. I got him into the car and dried him off the best I could with the towel, and then I brought him here.”

The assistant nodded. “He’s lucky you did before he got run over, poor guy. Dr. Romano will be with you in a couple minutes.” He disappeared through a door behind the examination table.

I sat in the chair next to the table and eyed the cat. He stood still, gazing calmly around. He made that chirping noise again, then it turned into a sort of trill. His eyes fixed on mine, and he seemed to be asking me, “What next?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Immediately I felt foolish, but this cat had an odd effect on me. Perhaps I was running a fever and letting my imagination get the best of me. I felt my forehead with the back of my right hand. It was cool and dry. No fever.

A young woman of about thirty-five, dressed in scrubs with a white coat over them, stepped into the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. Tell me what you know about this big fellow.”

I stood hastily. “Afternoon, Dr. Romano.” I explained the circumstances.

The veterinarian nodded. “Good of you to catch him and bring him in.” She turned away to the cabinets behind her. She opened a drawer and extracted a device about twice the size of her hand. “We’ll find out in a moment whether he has a chip. Let’s hope he does, so we can get him back home where he belongs.”

She stroked the cat’s head and spoke soothingly to him for a moment. He remained calm, stretching his neck to push his head against her hand. She held the device over his shoulders, and, after a moment, she shook her head. “No chip, I’m afraid.”

I felt oddly relieved, and that surprised me. I had no plans to adopt a pet, so why should I be happy this cat had no chip?

Dr. Romano laid the microchip reader aside. She examined the cat while I watched.

When she finished, I asked, “How old is he? He looks like he’s at least a year old because of his size.”

Dr. Romano smiled and shook her head. “No, he’s only about eight to ten weeks old, still very much a kitten.”

“He’s pretty big for a kitten, isn’t he?” I looked at the cat, who continued to sit calmly on the table between the vet and me.

“Not for his breed,” Dr. Romano said. “He’s a Maine Coon, and they are larger than most domestic cats. They reach maturity around three years, and adult males on average can weigh about twenty-five pounds.” She pointed out the distinguishing features, some of which I had already noticed: the tufts on the ears, the ruff around the neck, and then the hair between the pads on his feet. His tail was fluffy and long, now that he was completely dry.

“They make wonderful companions,” the vet continued. “They’re intelligent, loyal, and loving. They also tend to be mellow around children and other pets, even dogs.”

“You sound like a salesperson.” I smiled to remove any sting from the comment.

Dr. Romano grinned. “He’s going to need a home if you can’t find his owner. I don’t know of anyone in Athena or the surrounding area with Maine Coons, and we haven’t seen this handsome boy here before.”

“Maybe someone passing through town dumped him near the library,” I said. “That makes me angry even thinking about it.”

“I know,” the vet said. “Sadly, though, it happens a lot. People sometimes adopt pets without realizing the responsibilities that go with adoption. Then when they feel they can’t cope, they abandon the animals to fend for themselves.” She shook her head. “Sometimes when people move, they don’t take their pets with them. It’s totally reprehensible, especially when there are shelters to take them.”

I nodded. “I’d like to reserve a special place in hell for people who mistreat animals.”

“No argument with that here.” Dr. Romano sighed. “The question is, what are we going to do with this fellow?”

The cat, obviously aware we were talking about him, meowed loudly, then began to chirp. He turned toward me and walked to the edge of the table next to me. He held out a paw in my direction and chirped again.

“I think he’s telling you he wants to go home with you.” The vet laughed. “He seems pretty determined about it.”

I stared at the cat. I didn’t really feel up to the responsibility of a pet, and the good Lord only knew what Azalea would say if I brought a cat home. But there was something in those eyes, an intelligence perhaps, that made me think the vet was right. This cat had decided I was the person to take care of him, and that was that.

I shook my head. “I guess I don’t have much choice. He needs to be checked out, I’m sure. Aren’t there tests you need to run?”

Dr. Romano nodded. “We ought to check for feline AIDS and feline leukemia. The tests are relatively easy, and we can check for other problems as well by taking a look at his kidneys and urinary tract. If you don’t mind waiting about twenty minutes, we’ll take the samples we need, and then he can go home with you.”

The cat kept staring at me. Then he began to purr, that deep rumble that reminded me of a diesel engine. The way he looked at me made me feel he knew how lonely I was. My instincts were telling me that I needed to have this cat in my life.

I also thought he might be telling me that he needed me, too.

“Very well,” I said after a deep breath. “Let’s do it. My housekeeper may have a fit, but he needs a home. I’ll ask around and put an ad in the paper. I want to make sure no one else is going to claim him.”

“What about a name?” the vet asked.

I smiled. “Diesel.”

The cat warbled loudly, and Dr. Romano and I both laughed.

I stroked Diesel’s head. “I guess he approves.”

So did I, I suddenly realized. My heart felt lighter, and my depression had lifted, at least for now. I would have sworn Diesel smiled at me just then.

I hoped fervently that no one would come forward to claim him, because I was already quite attached to my new friend.

Luckily for both of us, no one did.

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