“You’re the best,” I told him.
Griffin smiled gingerly. I felt a rush of warmth in my chest for him. He really was a good man, even if he was an alpha.
He grabbed his keys from his pocket. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
* * *
The vet’soffice was barren of people, except for a few staff members. We were greeted at the door by a sunny young woman who ushered us inside. Her name tag read 'Sandra'.
“Oh, poor thing,” she said, looking into the carrier. “You said you just found her outside?”
“I work at the pet supply store nearby,” I explained. “Someone must have put her there on purpose, knowing the people who worked there would find her.”
She made a noise of sympathy. “Well, come on in. Let’s get her weighed, and then the doctor will be in shortly.”
After weighing the carrier - cat and all - she returned it to us, then showed us to one of the rooms. Griffin and I waited. The room smelled faintly of bleach and animal fur. The cat yowled again, a low and pathetic sound.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. I wished I could reassure her by stroking her fur in calming motions, but I was a stranger to her, and since she was already so scared I’d probably end up getting bit or scratched instead of actually helping her.
Griffin put his hand on my shoulder. “She’s lucky to have you looking out for you.”
“You’re helping, too,” I said. “If I had to do all of this by myself, I’d be stressed out of my mind right now.”
His hand slipped a bit lower to my back and turned into a soothing circle. “Then, I’m glad I was here to help.”
The warmth of his hand made my cheeks flush, which I hoped he didn’t notice since they were red from the cold to begin with. Thankfully, the vet entered the room and dispelled any mushy emotions I might have been feeling towards Griffin.
“Hello there,” the vet said. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she had a kind face. “I’m Dr. Kennedy.”
“Hi, doctor. I’m Jake, and this is Griffin, and this is - well, the patient.”
“I see,” she said as she leaned down to see into the carrier. The cat let out a low sound of distress again. “You don’t sound too happy, do you? I wouldn’t be either if I was left out in the cold.”
“And pregnant,” I added in a mumble.
Dr. Kennedy’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. Is that so?”
“Sorry, it was all in such a rush that I must have forgotten to mention it,” Griffin admitted.
“That’s all right. May I?” Dr. Kennedy asked, her hands outstretched for the carrier.
I handed it to her. “Yes, of course.”
She placed it on the stainless steel table. Sandra, the assistant from earlier, popped her head in just in time to take the carrier, weighing it on its own to find out the cat’s weight without putting her on the scale.
“Come on out,” Dr. Kennedy encouraged. With some treats and praise, the cat eventually crawled out of the carrier. She held her body low to the table, her movements slow, all her fur raised and her eyes wide.
Griffin watched in silence, his gaze flitting back and forth between the cat and I.
Dr. Kennedy went through the routine check-up. She checked the cat’s heartbeat and gave her a once-over. As Dr. Kennedy ran her hands down the cat’s body, she nodded grimly. “Yes, she’s about six weeks along.”
I winced.
“How long is gestation in cats?” Griffin asked.
“Roughly eight weeks,” the vet replied.
“Oh no,” Griffin murmured. “She’s quite a bit along. Poor girl.”
