Storm Rescue

Table of Contents

 

 

Hello!

 
In our house we've always been prepared for big storms; blizzards or hurricanes, we're ready for the worst. But when Hurricanes Katrina and Rita tore through the South, I realized that we weren't completely prepared; we had to make emergency plans for our dog.

Disasters are scary times for human beings, but at least we can listen to weather updates and know what to expect. Pets are often terrified by dangerous weather. The changes in atmospheric pressure affect them much more than us, and howling winds and rising water can send them into a panic.

Our pets rely on us to be there for them in good times and in bad. We now have an emergency supply of food and medicine for our dog, and we've figured out what we would do with her if we were ever evacuated. I hope you will be bold and brave enough to do the same thing for your pet!

 
Laurie Halse Anderson

Thanks to Kimberly Michels, D.V.M.

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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England 
First published in the United States of America by Pleasant Company Publications, 2000
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2008 

 
Copyright © Laurie Halse Anderson 2000, 2008

All rights reserved 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Anderson, Laurie Halse.
Storm rescue / Laurie Halse Anderson.
p. cm.—(Vet volunteers ; #6)
Summary: When a hurricane hits her town, Sunita must
face her fears in order to help a stranded cat.

eISBN : 978-0-142-41101-8

 
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

To Catherine Hapka

Chapter One

W
hat are you trying to do, Sunita?” Maggie MacKenzie asks as she flops down onto the deck beside me. “Turn that cat into a dog?”

I tuck my long, dark hair behind one ear and grin at Maggie. “No way,” I say. “I like Lucy just the way she is!”

I toss the small, squishy ball I'm holding. “Mwaaawr!” Lucy cries, and pounces on the ball, batting it with one paw as she rolls over onto her back. I expect her to twist around and whap the ball again. Instead, she just lies there for a second with all four paws straight up in the air.

Maggie giggles. “I guess it's too hot for playing ball today. Sherlock is acting even lazier than usual, too.”

“I guess.” I stare at Lucy, a little surprised. Even though she's thirteen years old, she's almost always as playful as a kitten—not like Maggie's basset hound, Sherlock Holmes, who is pretty lazy.

Finally, Lucy rolls the rest of the way over, halfheartedly bats the ball—and gets tangled up in her leash.

I reach for her. “Lucy, you love playing ball, remember?” I say, untangling her. Lucy's leash and the harness it's attached to are blue, just like her eyes. She blinks at me, then rubs her head against my chin to say thank you.

Lucy is one of my favorite patients here at Dr. Mac's Place, where I'm a volunteer. She's a seal-point Siamese cat—that's a breed of cat with a light-colored body and dark brown fur on its legs, tail, and face. The darker areas are called points.

I love pet-sitting for Lucy when her owner, Mrs. Clark, goes out of town—even though Lucy is a big responsibility. She has diabetes. That means her body doesn't produce a special protein called insulin. It turns food into glucose, a sugar that gives the body energy. So Lucy needs an injection of insulin twice a day to help regulate her body's glucose level. Dr. Mac taught me how to give her the shots.

I set Lucy down. “Mrrwowrr!” she says loudly. That's another thing about Siamese cats. They're really talkative.

“Just goes to show.” Maggie blows a few tendrils of red hair off her face as she watches Lucy stalk the ball again. Maggie's face is so red from the summer heat that her freckles hardly show at all. “There's no point putting a leash on a cat.”

I don't bother to reply to that. It's too hot to argue. It's the Saturday before Labor Day, and the day of the clinic's annual picnic. Every year, all the clinic's patients are invited to celebrate the end of summer. Their owners are invited, too, of course.

Maggie's grandmother owns the clinic. Her name is Dr. J.J. MacKenzie, but most people just call her Dr. Mac. Maggie and her cousin Zoe call her Gran, though aside from her white hair, nobody would guess she was old enough to be a grandmother. She's tall, wears bright T-shirts from The Gap, and never seems to stop moving. Right now she's with her partner, Dr. Gabe, talking to some picnic guests with a pair of panting poodles.

Personally, I'm glad Mrs. Clark taught her to walk on a leash. Lucy is the only cat at the whole picnic except for Dr. Mac's big orange cat, Socrates. One woman brought her cockatoo and is walking around with the big white bird perched on her shoulder. Another owner has a pet rat peeking out of his shirt pocket. But otherwise, everywhere I look I see dogs, dogs, dogs. There must be thirty or forty dogs of all shapes and sizes in the clinic's grassy, fenced-in backyard. I'm glad that Lucy and I are up on the deck, out of the way.

Don't get me wrong. I like almost all the animals that come to Dr. Mac's Place—dogs, ferrets, rabbits, pigs, snakes, horses, hamsters, birds, and more. But I've always loved cats the most. There's something about the way they move. Or maybe it's the way they look at you, like they know everything you're thinking.

I've wanted a cat for so long that it's hard to believe I finally have one of my own. Her name is Mittens, and I helped rescue her and her kittens. My mother and father made me find new homes for the kittens when they were old enough, but I got to keep Mittens.

Having a cat is a lot of responsibility—I have to remember to keep her food and water bowls filled and clean out the litter box every day. But having a cat is also just as wonderful as I always thought it would be. Mittens nuzzles my chin to wake me up in the morning, warms my lap while I read, and greets me at the door when I come home. What more could you ask for?

I watch Lucy hunch down and wiggle her backside as she stares at her ball intently. “My father says today is a triple-H day,” I tell Maggie. “It's hazy, hot, and humid.”

Maggie nods and glances around. “Yeah. I'm glad we put out all those extra water bowls around the yard,” she says. “It would be easy for a dog to get dehydrated in this heat.”

It's no surprise that Maggie is more concerned about the animals at the picnic than the people. She loves animals as much as I do—especially dogs. Maggie can train almost any dog to do almost anything. She even taught Sherlock to put his food dish in the dishwasher. When she opens the door, he pulls out the lower rack and plops the dish in. It's so cute!

“Uh-oh,” Maggie says, holding out her hand and glancing up at the sky. “It's sprinkling.”

A drop hits Lucy and she flinches. That's another reason I like cats. I don't like water, either—especially when I can't touch the bottom. In fact, I'm afraid of anything deeper than my bathtub.

“I hope it doesn't start raining harder and ruin the picnic. I was just about to get another hot dog,” Maggie says.

“Blame it on Felix,” I say, hugging Lucy to me as another drop splashes on my arm.

Maggie frowns. “Who?”

“That's the name of that hurricane that's coming up the coast,” I explain, stepping back to stand under the overhang of the roof.

Maggie ducks under the roof with me and says, “Oh, right, I saw that on the news this morning. But what does Hurricane Felix have to do with us? It's way down in South Carolina or somewhere.”

I'm about to answer, but just then Lucy wriggles in my arms. Letting out a little grunt, she pushes at me with her hind legs and tries to escape my grasp.

“Lucy!” I say in surprise, putting her down. “What's up, girl?” She loves being held almost as much as she loves playing with her ball. Why is she acting so weird?

Lucy circles my legs once, shaking her wet paws after each step. Then she stands on her hind feet and hugs my leg with her two front paws.

“Told you so,” I say, picking her up again.

“Typical fickle cat,” Maggie kids, and pats Lucy on the head.

“Hey,” David calls as he lopes up onto the deck.

“Hi,” says Maggie. “Do you know if there are any more hot dogs?”

David tosses his shaggy bangs out of his eyes and grins. “Sure, there's one right there,” he says, pointing to a Labrador retriever lying on the grass below.

I roll my eyes. David is always goofing around. Just about the only thing he's ever serious about is horses. They're his favorite animal, and he's a really good rider, even though he's only eleven, like Maggie and me.

“... and there's another one, and another one ... ” David continues to point out dogs.

“Never mind,” Maggie mutters. “I'll go see for myself. Want one, Sunita?”

“Sure,” I say.

David sits down on a bench. “It figures you'd find the one cat at the whole picnic, Sunita,” he says. “You're like a cat magnet.”

I smile but don't bother to answer. I'm still watching Lucy. Her eyes are half closed and she seems content now, but there's no hint of a purr.

Soon Maggie returns, holding two hot dogs—or, rather, one and a half hot dogs. She's already eaten half of hers. She pops the rest of it into her mouth and holds mine out to me. I blink at her, trying to figure out how to hold Lucy and eat the hot dog at the same time.

Maggie chews and swallows. “Here,” she says. “I'll hold Lucy while you eat.”

I hesitate. I'm still a little worried about Lucy. I wonder if she could be sick. Whenever an animal's behavior is different from usual, it could mean she's not feeling well. That's one of the first things that Dr. Mac taught us all when we started volunteering. Maybe I should mention this to her.

My stomach grumbles, and I decide the decision can wait a minute or two. “Okay,” I say at last, handing Lucy over.