CHAPTER ONE
Ruby
“Who’s a good boy?” I give pets to our newest intake at the shelter. A senior German Shepherd who was brought in after his owner passed away. There weren’t any friends or family who were equipped to take him in or willing.
Nothing is more heartbreaking than their first day here. Their world has been turned upside down. A new environment andtheir owners are nowhere to be found. Strange people. Other animals. It can be so stressful for them.
Our vet estimates Petey to be around 11 years old. He still gets around good for an old man in dog years.
I love my job, but it can take a mental toll. We can’t save them all, but we can damn sure try. I snap his picture for our website and our social media pages. The pay isn’t the greatest, but I get to cuddle lots of cute cats and dogs anytime I want.
Back at my desk, I type up a cute caption and schedule the post to go up on our pages first thing in the morning. I’m hoping one of our fosters will have a spot for him, so he isn’t living his last years in one of our kennels.
I’d take him myself, but my building has a strict policy on large-breed dogs.
Petey folds his paws over his nose before deciding to hide under my desk and my feet. He’s not bothering me, so I let him stay while I chase leads for possible homes for him. We always get requests for puppies and kittens, but it’s the older dogs like Petey who often get looked over.
I get it. Taking in a senior dog can be mentally taxing because they don’t have much time left and most have health issues, but not all. People want younger pets to spend the most time with them. I kick a shoe off and rub my foot along the dog’s back. He’s such a sweetheart.
“Petey, come.” Belinda, one of the evening shift workers, leads him back to his kennel for a meal.
I slip my shoe back on and close my browser tabs. Tomorrow the cycle starts over. There will be more calls asking if we’re taking cats again. We do what we can, but it never feels like enough. I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and make sure I’m not forgetting anything.
I grab some flyers for the spay and neuter clinic we are doing next week. We work closely with another clinic to do these free events. Thanks to one of our donors who is covering the costs.
“See you later,” I call out as Belinda comes back to the front with unshed tears glittering in her hazel eyes. I shoot her a sympathetic smile. As rewarding as our jobs are, they are equally, if not more, heartbreaking.
“He’s refusing to eat.”
“He will. You know how it goes.”
“Yeah. I just hate how sad he is.”
“I’ve got someone I’m going to call.”
She nods. “Get out of here. You should have been gone ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I grab the small bag of dry cat food I’m borrowing for the cats in the alley behind my apartment building. I’m working on befriending them before trying to capture them. They stand a better chance of adoption if they are tamed when they come in. Sometimes, if the feral ones are lucky, we can trap and release them to farmers outside the city. They make excellent barn cats.
On my walk home, I drop some of the flyers off at various businesses that don’t mind sticking up an advertisement or two for us.
Snowflakes dust my shoulders and hair as I continue down the sidewalk. The moon is up and the sun is long gone. The glow of the streetlights washes over me as I hurry toward the alley behind my building to leave dinner for the newest stray and her kittens. Spring is typically kitten season, but that doesn’t stop them from reproducing year-round.
I pull the bag from my purse and give it a shake as I crouch down next to the dumpster. “Psst. Psst,” I call out softly, keeping my voice low.
The momma cat pokes her head out from under the dumpster and hisses at me.
“Hello to you too, darling.”
I move back slightly so she won’t feel threatened and sprinkle some food out. The poor thing is starving. Her tiny teeth gnash against the food. Angry noise emitting from her chest. Her babies poke their heads out from under the dumpster but don’t dare to venture any closer. I count at least four.
The mommy cat keeps her ears perked up and flat like the wings of an airplane, her head moving like it is on a swivel, turning at every new sound.
“You’re such a good momma,” I tell her and hold out my gloved hand for her to sniff. She turns her nose up at me, and I smile. “I’m going to win you over eventually, you know?” I dump out some extra food, wishing I had thought to grab a bowl from my apartment to give her some water. I’ll bring one down in the morning on my way to work if she’s still here. Mommy cats move their babies often, looking for a safer location than the last. I’m afraid this is about as safe as she will find until she learns to trust me.
“I’ll pay the bitch,” a male voice whines.
“Shut the fuck up,” another man growls, and my spine straightens.
