Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

“Well, it’s too late now. I gave it to my next-door neighbor’s new baby.”

I wanted to ask if the neighbor knew her baby was wearing a miniature poodle’s hand-me-downs, but Gia slid her glass panel open and said, “Dixie, you can come on back now.”

Dr. Layton is a comfortably plump African American woman with a head of glossy black curls. She was already in the examining room when I got there, peering over her half-rimmed glasses and making notes in a big blue binder. She was wearing black patent-leather heels, a fitted coffee-colored linen skirt that fell just past her knees, and a white brocade blouse with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. I almost didn’t recognize her. I was used to seeing her in the standard getup: white slacks, teal lab coat, and sensible loafers.

I lifted the cage up and set it down on the examination table with a flourish.

She glanced up briefly and said, “Oh, a resplendent quetzal,” and then went back to writing in her notebook.

This was not at all the reaction I was hoping for. I had always admired Dr. Layton for being a no-nonsense kind of woman. A veterinary office can have a lot of drama, and she always keeps her cool, no matter how crazy it gets. But surely she didn’t see a bird like this every day.

“Oh. I thought you’d fall to the floor when you saw this.”

She looked up with a mischievous grin. “I might have, but Gia warned me. Dixie, what the hell kind of animal is that and where in the world did you find it?”

I laughed. “Now that’s more like it!”

“Sorry, I’m in a mood. Dr. Prawer is filling in for me today, and I’ve been going over some of the patients’ files with him, and I’m making last-minute notes for a speech I’m giving tonight at the Vet Council and I’m scared to death! But when Gia said you were here…”

She trailed off as she studied René more closely. As he hopped around from perch to perch, a varied mix of emotions played across her face: wonder, sadness, delight, resignation. I told her all about how Joyce had found him, and how we were certain he was a goner, how Joyce had wrapped him in a bandanna, and then how he’d risen from the dead a couple hours later.

She said, “Well, I think I can safely say he’s in good spirits. Normally I might guess he’d been blown off course in a hurricane and wound up here, but I guess you noticed his primary flight feathers are clipped—so I think it’s safe to say that more than likely someone’s lost their pet. His coordination looks good, his eyes are bright, and I don’t see any signs of a respiratory problem, which is common with exotics like this. They’re taken out of their native habitat and their immune systems get quite a shock. It’s possible he might have ingested something toxic. How’s his appetite?”

“It’s good. We’ve just been feeding him fruit and birdseed. I wasn’t sure what else to give him.”

“I can help you with that, but I think it might be a good idea to keep him here for the night. The first thing that comes to mind is trauma. Birds routinely fly into buildings or windows. You’d be surprised how many birds knock themselves out for a bit, and then wake up later completely unharmed. Still, just to be safe I’d like to do some X-rays. We can also run some blood tests and check for a cardiac event, like a stroke. It could be he was simply exhausted and dehydrated, but I’d feel better if we covered all our bases. Any idea who he belongs to?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll ask Gia to call around and see if anyone reported a missing bird. In the meantime, are you busy this afternoon and would you like to give a speech for me?”

I assured her that I was a disaster in front of a crowd, although the topic of her speech, the overpopulation of animal shelters and how pet stores should be regulated, if not done away with entirely, was a topic I am keenly interested in. But I was not meant for a life on the stage. When I was in fifth grade, my class put on a production of “Puss ’n Boots.” I barely remember what part I played because the moment the curtain went up on opening night, I vomited all over the stage. That was my last appearance in front of an audience, and I plan on keeping it that way.

Dr. Layton took René out of Joyce’s cage and transferred him into a state-of-the-art number with an automatic water feeder and all kinds of rings and mirrors for him to play with. I said good-bye and promised him I’d be back bright and early tomorrow morning to pick him up, and thanked Dr. Layton for seeing me.

As I was putting the empty cage in the back of the Bronco, I noticed the weather had changed dramatically. There was a mountainous black cloud lurking out at sea, and the air had grown still and damp—perfect conditions for a lovebug orgy. They were out in full force now, frolicking unabashedly in the air, so I drove down Midnight Pass toward home at a snail’s pace. I still had my afternoon rounds, but I needed a shower and a nap first.

On the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Becca and what she must have been going through. I wondered if she’d worked up the courage yet to call her parents. I wondered how they’d react when they learned that Kenny had been working on more than their pool.

I was going to have to talk to Kenny, even though there were lots of reasons not to. First, it was none of my business who he slept with; his employment with the Harwicks had nothing to do with me. Second, he was a grown man, and Becca was childish but not a child. Still, I felt an obligation, if not as his employer then as his friend, to try to set him straight. I knew he was a good man, and whatever reasons he had to be afraid of becoming a father, I couldn’t imagine he wanted to hurt Becca. Maybe he just needed a little push in the right direction.

When I pulled into my spot under the carport, I could see Ella Fitzgerald waiting for me in the window of my apartment, which meant both Michael and Paco were probably at work. She flicked her tail excitedly as I climbed up the stairs. When I unlocked the door and opened it, she hopped down and ran up to greet me. I gave her a little scratch on the top of her head and she scrunched up her shoulders with a high-pitched thhrrrip! and then padded into the bathroom behind me. I was out of my clothes and under a strong stream of hot water in seconds. There is nothing in the world as wonderful as a shower. I don’t care how bad things get, if a person can still take a long, hot shower, life is good.

I fell naked into bed, and Ella Fitzgerald circled herself into the crook of my arm and purred softly. I soon found myself in a dream. I was standing in front of a huge crowd of people. They were all raising their hands, waiting for me to call on them. I pointed at a young man, and someone handed him a microphone. He said, Hi, Dixie, my question is about string theory: If you rotate one dimension so that its trajectory is opposite to its original path, do the strings then fold in on themselves?

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but I knew I had to come up with some sort of answer. All I could think to say was no. The man looked surprised at first, but then softened. He said, I’m sorry for what’s about to happen. I should have been honest with you from the start, but I was scared, and now it’s too late. I hope you’ll understand that I didn’t have a choice.

I woke with a start. Kenny was leaving a message on my answering machine. I frantically reached for the phone and pressed the TALK button, but he’d already hung up. I pressed the NEW MESSAGES button, and Kenny’s familiar voice came out of the speaker.

“Dixie, it’s Kenny. Listen, I should have told you, but I couldn’t. Something’s about to go down and … it’s big. I can’t tell you what it is, and probably by the time you hear this I’ll be gone. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for not being honest with you from the start. I was scared, and now it’s too late. I hope you’ll understand that I didn’t have a choice.”