Masks (9 page)

Two houses away, a woman is at her door giving candy bars to trick-or-treaters. I rush up to her. “A cat’s been hit by a car. Do you have a box I could use?”

The woman reaches under the table by her door and pulls out a medium-sized box that still has some wrapped candy in it. She dumps the candy onto the table and hands me the box. “Wait one second,” she says as she digs through a basket sitting by the door and pulls out a pair of leather gardening gloves. “We’ll take these, too,” she says, handing them to me. “I’m coming with you.”

“Thanks so much,” I tell her as I lead her back to the cat.

When I get there, Maggie and Brenna have joined David. “How will we get it into the box without lifting it?” David asks.

I tear down one side of the box so that it lies flat on the road. I put on the gardening gloves, carefully lift the cat onto David’s cape, and slide it into the box. Then we put the open side back up.

The cat has stopped moving. Fearing the worst, I touch its side, and it meows in a small voice. Good. It’s alive.

The woman gives us a lift back to the clinic. I keep the cat covered, resting my hands lightly on the cloth the whole ride. The rise and fall of the cat’s breath lets me know it’s still alive.

“Good luck,” the woman says as we climb out of the car at the clinic. We thank her and hurry inside the front door. Dr. Mac is sitting in the kitchen, reading.

“Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” she asks when she sees us rush in.

“A cat’s been hit,” I say as I place the box on the table. She pulls back David’s cape to see the hurt cat. Its eyes are half open. She hurries it into the Herriot Room with the four of us alongside her.

Leaving the cat in the box, she places it on the examining table. “Do you know who owns this cat?”

“I don’t think anyone owns it,” I say. “But Michaela—the woman who gives the mask-making classes—has been feeding it.”

Dr. Mac asks me to hold the cat steady while she looks at its injuries.

“It’s good that you moved it so carefully,” Dr. Mac comments as she feels the cat’s body gently but firmly. Then Dr. Mac squeezes the cat’s rear toes. The cat doesn’t seem to have any feeling, even though Dr. Mac is now pinching them very hard. “But I’m not sure we can save it,” Dr. Mac tells us. “I think this cat may have a broken back. I’ll X-ray it to be sure.”

Dr. Mac takes the cat into the X-ray room. A few minutes later she comes in to show us the X-rays. She places them on a lighted view box.

“It’s a broken back all right,” says Dr. Mac as she points out the breaks.

“What can we do to help the cat?” I ask.

Dr. Mac sighs. “This is one of those difficult decisions vets hate to make. In my opinion, the kindest thing would be to give it a painkiller and put it to sleep.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Maggie asks.

“There are some procedures I could try, but I really believe they would be pointless, and we’d be prolonging this animal’s suffering.”

I remember Dr. Mac telling me how hard this part of her job is for her.

“I guess that’s what we have to do, then,” Brenna says sadly. The rest of us nod.

“You kids can go. I’ll take care of this,” Dr. Mac tells us.

We walk out of the room together. At the reception desk, I call Michaela. I get her answering machine. “I just thought you might want to know that the black stray has been hit by a car. Dr. Mac can’t help it, so she’s going to put it to
sleep.” As I say the last words, my voice cracks.

“I’m going to go home,” David says. Obviously, he’s lost the Halloween spirit. “See you all in the morning.”

Brenna, Maggie, and I stand in the front lobby just looking at one another. Brenna speaks first. “I just don’t know how Dr. Mac does it.”

“Gran hates putting down animals,” Maggie says.

“It’s hard on her,” I say. “It isn’t easy to know what’s right when it comes to things like this.”

“Listen, Sunita,” Brenna says. “I’ve been pretty hard on you. Maybe I didn’t really think about everything that’s involved when you work with animals. I mean, it’s more complicated than I realized. And I know you really do care about animals. I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “I’ve been confused by it all, too. So we’re friends again?”

“Definitely,” Brenna replies.

Just at that moment, Michaela rushes in. Maggie and Brenna stare at her, wide-eyed. She’s dressed as a witch with a pointed hat and a cloak. She’s even got a witch’s broom in her hand.

I smile, thinking of how freaked out my
friends must be by the sight of her. “Hey, kids,” she greets them.

“Hi,” they say.

“I got your message, Sunita,” she says. “I thought you might want some company. But I see you have some.” She shivers and draws her witch cloak around herself more closely. “It’s getting cold out there,” she comments.

“I could make us some hot cocoa or tea,” Maggie offers.

“Tea would be lovely,” Michaela replies.

“I’ll help,” says Brenna as she and Maggie head toward the kitchen.

Michaela and I sit together quietly in the lobby for a few minutes. “How are you doing with your lab work?” she asks after a while.

“I quit,” I told her. “I couldn’t take it.”

Michaela nods. “You didn’t like it?”

The question surprises me because—strange as it seems—I did like it. “Some things about it, yes. I think it’s interesting the way the researchers make an educated guess about what might work and then go about testing their idea.”

“I think so, too. I studied chemistry in college,” she says.

“You did? Not art?” I ask.

“I wanted to be a biochemist. I liked the work, but I discovered I loved art. It was one of my shifts. I still use chemistry, though. Thanks to what I learned about chemistry, I can make some unusual dyes and paints to use in my art.”

“I never would have thought those things were connected,” I say.

Michaela looks at me. “Don’t worry, Sunita, you’ll find your way. There’s a lot to you, and it isn’t always easy for a complex person to find her way. Eventually your path will become clear. I’m sure of it.”

Maggie and Brenna return with cups of tea on a tray. The four of us sit and drink it. No one says much. I think we’re all too sad about the black stray to talk.

“You all seem so at home here,” Michaela comments as she rises to leave.

“This is Maggie’s home,” Brenna comments.

“Yes, but you and Sunita also seem to fit right in,” Michaela says.

I realize she’s right. Dr. Mac’s Place has been like a second home to me. I wonder—do I still belong here?

T
he next morning, Dr. Mac steps out of the Herriot Room with Mittens in her arms. “Finally! She’s doing beautifully!” she announces, handing Mittens to me.

I nuzzle her. Mittens licks my nose. Her eyes are bright again, just the way I remember.

“You did well with that stray last night,” Dr. Mac says to me. “You treated her for shock, moved her as gently as possible, and got her here quickly. Thanks to you, Sunita, that cat spent her last moments on earth sedated and reasonably pain free. That was much better than dying in agony on the side of the road.”

I guess I did know what to do.

“Brenna told me you’ve quit AVM. Does this mean you’ll give us more of your time? Will you come back and work with us?”

“Do you really think I should?” I ask.

“I know you’ve been having doubts lately about your ability to work with animals. So I just want to tell you that I think you’d make a wonderful veterinarian. You have that unique combination—a deep compassion for animals and a good head for science. You’ve got what it takes, Sunita.” She smiles and gets up, just as a woman walks in carrying a big iguana in a cage.

Maggie comes into the reception area holding a box. “Michaela dropped this off for you this morning,” she says, handing it to me.

I open the box. Inside is an incredible clay mask Michaela has made of a tiger. Its fur is painted bright gold, with shiny black stripes on top. Its almond-shaped eyes are rimmed with black. There is a note in the box. It reads:
Your fierce passion for animals enabled you to help the black cat. I’m sure she understood and appreciated your kindness. There are many kinds of help. Love, Michaela. P.S. I was thinking about you and a picture of a tiger came to my mind. I made this mask in the
hope that when you look at it, you will be reminded of how at least one friend sees you.

I get the pre-crying nose tingle. But I’m not sad, just moved by the gift and Michaela’s words.
There are many kinds of help.
I picture the animals over at AVM Labs. They need help, too, even if it is only helping them have comfortable last days. I wonder if Julie will let me work there again. Perhaps I could work here and at the lab, on alternating days.

I decide to call Julie this afternoon and ask her.

Mittens climbs onto my shoulder, purring in my ear. I look down at the tiger mask. It’s something I’ll always treasure and keep near me—a reminder of the inner spirit I want to grow strong inside me.