Donally, Claire - Cat Nap (A SUNNY & SHADOW MYSTERY)

“Towards the end, she had to give the poor animal some sort of shots,” Helena Martinson went on.

The other volunteer loaded up her arms with one of Helena’s piles. “You see it in here,” she said, “like this one family. They were doing fine until the husband lost his job at the shipyard. The wife sold Avon or something, but even with that and unemployment, they had a hard time feeding themselves and a kid, much less a pet. And when their dog got sick, what could they do? A vet’s bill comes to about a month’s rent.”

Sunny nodded, but she was still chewing over Helena Martinson’s last comment.

If Shadow got sick, would I have the heart to stick him with needles?

She wasn’t sure.

13

Sunny let herfather chat with Mrs. Martinson for a while, and then she and Mike returned home. As they opened the door, Shadow came out of the living room and strolled over to give them a sniff. Apparently, they didn’t bring home any interesting scents. The cat just turned around and searched out a new patch of sunlight to nap in.

“That looks like a pretty good plan,” Mike said, looking down at Shadow. “But maybe we could have some lunch first.”

They sat at the kitchen table, making some inroads into the sliced turkey that Sunny had bought.

“Pretty interesting, what the 99 Elmet Ladies are trying to do with that food pantry,” Mike said in between bites of his sandwich.

Sunny nodded. “It looks like practical help that a lot of people around here need.” She found herself thinking about the story Mrs. M.’s friend had told about the family torn between getting treatment for the dog or paying the rent. What had Carolyn Dowdey talked about? Intravenous treatments and surgery? With the salary Sunny made at MAX, how would she afford something like that if Shadow got sick? He’d been lucky enough to bounce back quickly from his misadventures so far, and it helped that Jane seemed to feel she owed Sunny favors. But if Shadow really got knocked down by some illness, how could she watch Shadow suffer?

“Earth to Sunny.” Mike waved a hand in front of her eyes. “You’ve been sitting there for a couple of minutes, looking at that sandwich as if you wanted to strangle it.”

“Sorry.” She looked over at him. “I was thinking about that family with the sick dog. Could Jane do something with the animal fund to help out people like that?”

“It’s not easy, getting people around here to accept charity,” Mike said slowly. “I bet it must kill some of those folks, just going to the food bank, and Helena and the other ladies try to keep it as nonofficial as possible. What you’re talking about, there’d have to be hoops to jump through— administration .” He made that sound like a bad word. “Plus, you’re poking your nose into how Jane makes a living. That can get kinda . . . personal.”

Sunny thought about that for a minute. “I can see what you mean,” she said finally. “But then, people get awfully personal about vets. That’s something else I should talk to Jane about.”

She got on the phone to see if Jane was busy and got an invitation to come over and visit the pet hospital. Jane let her in and led Sunny to what she called “the observation wing.” It was just a room equipped with cages for patients who had to stay overnight. Jane did some housekeeping chores and gave quick checkups to the three dogs and two cats who were in residence.

“I have a suggestion for you and Tobe to consider,” Sunny said as Jane worked. “Could Martin have been killed by a dissatisfied customer?”

Jane sighed. “There are certainly enough of them.” She put on a pair of heavy gauntlets to deal with a hissing cat that kept making clawing gestures at her. “And not this kind either.”

She succeeded in calming the cat down and checking her vital signs. When Sunny complimented her, Jane replied, “That was easy compared to dealing with the humans. They come in half hysterical because their pet is sick. And if you make the animal better, well, that’s your job, isn’t it? But if, God forbid, poor little Bobo doesn’t get better, well, then you’re a worthless quack. Worse, you’re a money-grubbing quack.”

She shook her head. “Look at you and Shadow. I suggested a treatment that you could take care of by yourself. In a lot of cases like that, people will come back to me with a pet that’s still limping. They ‘couldn’t find the time’ to take care of the animal. I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised. Most people can’t find the time to take care of themselves. So many of the illnesses among people today could be treated with diet and exercise. Heck, a lot of them could’ve been avoided in the first place with diet and exercise.”

Sunny nodded, thinking of her father.

“Instead, though, people wind up going to the doctor to ask for a pill.” Jane looked disgusted. “I try to see if the animal’s human partner can be depended on to help in treatment. Martin, who had a lot more experience, automatically wrote the humans off. He’d do procedures that hurt the animals a lot more than home treatment would.”

“Because of money?” Sunny asked.

“Maybe—in later days,” Jane admitted. “But he also had stories of patients coming in much worse because their owners couldn’t follow a simple course of treatment. Martin argued that he was merely protecting his professional reputation. He put a lot of money, training, and time into his practice. He said he didn’t want to depend on some civilian who might screw up even simple instructions.”

She wrote a couple of notes on patients’ charts. “For my part, if I think a pet’s human is trustworthy—like you—I’ll suggest a home treatment option where it’s feasible. Otherwise, it’s my professional responsibility to see that the animal gets the necessary care. And if that means a paying visit, so be it.”

Sunny remembered Mike’s comment about poking her nose into how people make their living. But Jane had a point.

And the vet was on a roll now. She continued, “It’s not an easy job, Sunny. I treat the pet, but I’ve got to deal with the human side of the partnership. Sometimes that’s difficult. It can take people a while to come to grips with the fact that their pet is extremely ill—or worse, that their pet can’t really be cured. While that process goes on for the human, I have to make sure that the pet isn’t suffering.”

Jane turned to survey her patients in their cages. Some of them were pacing around. Most just lay in a corner, looking unhappy. Sunny couldn’t tell whether their unhappiness came from boredom or illness.

“Sometimes I have to extend treatment longer than I’d like to—beyond what I think is humane,” Jane admitted. “But that’s because the human can’t bring himself—or herself—to make a decision about ending the pet’s suffering, not because it’s adding a bit more profit to my bottom line.”

Sunny nodded somberly. “The other day, I heard about someone who had to give her cat injections, and I was wondering how much harder would it be, deciding to end things for him, if he were so sick—”

“I think you would make the right choice,” Jane said quietly. “Sometimes, it’s worth doing everything you can. But sometimes you realize that it’s selfish, keeping a pet with you when the animal is in terrible pain.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sunny shivered a little, even though the room was warm. “But it must be a terrible decision to make. And it’s easy to see how some people could end up blaming the doctor.”

“Even the nicest folks can get pretty nasty,” Jane agreed. “You have to let them vent their feelings, and if you can, help them get through it. You might not believe me, Sunny, but I think grief counseling comes into this. It’s like losing a member of your family. You’re still pretty new to the experience of having a pet. You have to go through this kind of loss yourself to understand what I’m saying. The problem is, dealing with that kind of grief is a case for a human psychologist, not a vet. We try to do what we can. Whenever we had a euthanasia case, we’d give the person a DVD to watch.”