Masks (2 page)

“Yeah,” Maggie agrees. “I mean, people have
believed in them for so long. Could people be totally wrong?”

“Sure they could be wrong!” I argue. “People used to think the earth was flat, and that the sun revolved around the earth, and all sorts of crazy things.”

“I heard a story once,” David begins in a spooky tone. “During the Salem witch trials, a woman was hanged for being a witch. But as they put the noose around her neck, she put this horrible curse on the people. She swore she would dance on their graves.

“Every year on the anniversary of her death, footprints appeared on the graves of anyone who had watched the witch get hanged. When people tried to wipe away the footprints, their hands were covered with blood.”

“Ew!” Brenna cries with a shiver.

“Creepy,” Maggie agrees.

I smile and roll my eyes. Spooky stuff like witches, ghosts, and ancient curses are fun at Halloween, but they’re not for real. I’ll take scientific explanations every time.

Mittens begins batting markers across the table. One of the markers rolls off and falls to
the floor. As I bend to pick it up, Mittens starts chewing on a button. I pull it away from her. My cat has been known to eat strange things.

She pounces on my hand with her claws sheathed. “OK! OK! I get the message,” I say to her. I pull a length of thick orange yarn out of its skein and cut it off. I dangle the yarn in front of Mittens. “Here you go, Mittens—catch this!”

I reach high and jiggle the yarn. Mittens rises on her back legs and swings her paws at it.

“Go on! Catch it!” I coax, pulling the yarn just out of her reach. “You can get it, Mittens.” I lower the yarn just a bit so she can have the satisfaction of capturing it.

We laugh as Mittens pounces ferociously. She reminds me of a lioness, hunting out on the savanna. She snatches the whole piece of yarn out of my hand and then sits on it, protecting her prize.

“Good job!” we praise her, clapping. “Way to go!”

I stroke my cat’s silky fur. I’d wanted a cat for so long before my mother finally gave in. At first, she had a million excuses—cats shed, cats tear up the furniture, and so on. When she finally
let me have Mittens, it was the happiest day of my life.

I named my cat Mittens because she looks like she’s wearing two little white mittens on her front paws.

I’ve never met a more affectionate cat. She’s always nuzzling me and giving me scratchy little love-kiss licks. I return those with a kiss on her furry forehead.

David cuts a piece of white cardboard into the shape of a face. He cuts out the eyeholes, then a slit for the mouth. “Should I draw the fangs or make them with clay?” he wonders aloud.

Suddenly there’s a loud bang from outside, as if something heavy has just fallen. Some animal makes a screechy, screaming sound. The howl becomes more high-pitched.

“That is definitely a cat!” I say—a very upset, angry, threatening cat.

We jump up and rush to the door. It sounds like a cat fight, but I can hear only one cat screaming. I get to the door first and pull it open, but before I can step out, Maggie grabs my shoulder, holding me back. “Look out!” she cries as a black blur streaks by my feet.

W
hat was that?” I gasp.

Behind me, David shouts. “There it is! It’s a cat, a black cat!”

I see it for just a second as it races off into some bushes.

“Sunita, a black cat just passed right in front of you. You know what that means!” David says.

“Bad luck,” Maggie finishes solemnly. She says it so seriously, I think she might actually believe it.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I laugh. “Like I really believe that.”

We step out into the yard. Immediately, I see what fell over—a garbage can. And, just as immediately, I smell a very familiar odor. We all smell it.

“Skunk!” we shout all together.

Right on cue, a fat skunk waddles out of the overturned garbage can.

“Oh, how cute!” Maggie says.

It is cute. Smelly, but cute. Obviously it sprayed the area because something upset it—either the garbage can turning over or a confrontation with the cat.

Poor cat. I hope its owner will know it needs a bath in tomato juice to help get rid of the smell.

Brenna squeezes her nose shut. “P.U.!” she says in a pinched, nasal voice. “What was the skunk doing in the garbage can, anyway?”

“Skunks sleep in the daytime,” Maggie says. “Maybe it fell in there during the night while it was looking for food.”

“That’s possible,” Brenna agrees. “Maybe it got stuck in there and then fell asleep once the sun came up.”

“And the cat woke it up,” I add. Then it occurs to me: If the cat was looking for food in the
garbage can, then maybe it’s a stray. If it doesn’t have an owner, how will it get rid of the skunk smell?

“That cat was really speeding,” David says. “I bet it never expected to find a skunk in there when it started nosing around.”

The skunk waddles over to a clump of trees. “Let’s get out of here,” Brenna suggests, pinching her nose shut once again.

“Have you guys ever seen that cat around here before?” I ask as we return to the kitchen.

“I’ve never seen it before,” Maggie says.

“Well, if it ever comes around again, we’ll be able to smell it coming,” David jokes.

“I wonder—” Maggie begins, then pauses.

“What?” I prod her. It drives me crazy when people don’t complete a thought.

“Doesn’t it seem strange that a woman who looks like a witch moves in nearby, and suddenly a black cat shows up?” Maggie asks.

“A witch and her mysterious black cat,” David says ominously.

“You guys!” I say with a laugh. Seems like the Halloween bug has bitten them hard.

“Believe what you like,” Maggie says. She
picks up a pair of scissors and begins cutting into a piece of construction paper, as if she’s made up her mind on the subject.

Is it really possible she does believe that a witch—complete with cauldron and black cat—has actually moved in down the road?

“I want to meet her,” Maggie says. “I’ll be able to tell just by looking at her.”

David laughs. “How? Do you think she’ll be wearing a black cloak and a pointed hat?”

“I’ll know by looking at her eyes,” Maggie says confidently. “I can tell things about people from their eyes.”

“You should get out your telescope, Maggie,” I say. “Then you can look out the window and watch her zoom past the moon tonight.”

Maggie rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, very funny!”

Mittens is still sitting contentedly on the table. “All the excitement’s over, sweet girl,” I say. I look at my watch. “Uh-oh, time for you and me to get home for dinner.” I scoop up Mittens. “See you on Saturday, guys.” Friday’s my afternoon to watch Harshil and Jasmine, my five-year-old twin brother and sister.

“Watch out for witches!” David cackles as we head out the door.

Oh, brother.

I wake up late on Saturday morning. I reach over to pet Mittens, who always sleeps next to my pillow, but she’s not there.

“Mittens, sweetie, where are you?” I call.

There’s no answer. That’s odd—Mittens always wants to be fed early in the morning, and I’m the only one who feeds her. I’m used to waking up to her purring in my ear and kneading her paws on my shoulder. I get up, get dressed, and start searching. Where could she be?

Then I hear it, a faint
meow
coming from the back of my closet. I turn on the closet light and find Mittens in the back corner. She’s curled up in a tight ball, and I see several places where she has vomited. Her sides are heaving in and out as if she’s trying to vomit again, but it looks as if she can’t. She doesn’t even try to come to me.

“Mom!” I cry. But there’s no answer. Mom must have already left for the hospital. And Daddy takes Harshil and Jasmine to the library on Saturday mornings.

I scoop up Mittens, wrap her in a towel, and put her in the basket on the front of my bike. It has a lid that I close and fasten. “Hang on, sweetie. I’ll get you to Dr. Mac’s in no time.”

D
r. Mac is searching for something in the supply closet. When she hears me racing into the clinic, she turns quickly. “What’s wrong, Sunita?”

“It’s Mittens. She’s been vomiting, and she won’t even move.” My voice is shaking.

“Come on,” she says, heading straight into the Herriot Room. I follow her with Mittens.

When I unwrap my cat, she’s still curled into a tight ball. Dr. Mac carefully feels her all over. When she lightly presses my cat’s belly, Mittens lets out a loud moan and hisses.

“I’m going to X-ray her,” Dr. Mac tells me. “But first, I’m going to give her a sedative. She’s
too upset to let us get a good picture of her insides.”

“What’s wrong with her, Dr. Mac?” I ask.

“I hope the X-ray will tell us,” she says.

I pick up Mittens and follow Dr. Mac into the X-ray room. She hands me a lead apron, gloves, and collar for protection against the harmful rays of the machine.

“First, put the lead protectors over yourself,” Dr. Mac instructs. “Then lay Mittens down on her side with her legs stretched out. We’ll take a second view with her lying on her back.”

I do as Dr. Mac asks. The sedative has relaxed Mittens enough that she lets me lay her on her side and gently stretch her out.

Dr. Mac steps into the small room next to the X-ray machine. She hits some buttons and the machine X-rays Mittens. The whole procedure takes only a few moments.

I remove my shields and return with Mittens to the Herriot Room while Dr. Mac develops the film. Brenna, David, and Maggie have come in to wait with me. “She’ll be OK, Sunita,” Brenna says. “You know Dr. Mac won’t let anything bad happen to Mittens.”

I nod, knowing Mittens will get the best
possible care. But I’m not as confident that nothing will go wrong. I’ve worked at the clinic long enough to know that animal injuries can be unpredictable.

After a few minutes, Dr. Mac comes in to show us the X-rays. She places them on the lighted view box. “Everything looks fine except the intestines. They’re all bunched up, making what we call a ‘string sign’ on the X-ray. Could Mittens have eaten some string in the last few days?”

“Yarn!” Tears spring to my eyes. “She must have eaten the yarn from my tiger mask! Is that what’s hurting her?” I ask.

“Not exactly. Sometimes yarn can pass through a cat’s system without any pain or damage. In this case, the intestines are trying to move the yarn through Mittens’ system, but the yarn has gotten stuck. The pulling has caused her intestines to bunch up, and that’s why she’s in pain and vomiting. We’re going to have to operate right away, Sunita.”

I feel so horribly, terribly guilty. I know cats shouldn’t be left alone with string or yarn. I know it! When that stray cat tipped over the garbage, I let myself be distracted and forgot all about Mittens. Even though I try to hold back,
my lower lip quivers and a tear rolls down my cheek. It seems so babyish to cry in the middle of an emergency. Maggie puts her hand on my shoulder.

Dr. Mac turns to me. “I know it’s scary, Sunita, but try to stay calm.”

I can hardly believe what’s happening. I wish I could just wake up and discover this is all a bad nightmare. How could I have let this happen to an animal who trusts me so completely, who relies on me to take care of her?