Cash cocked his head.
“Doc Ross will be up feeding these babies at night for at least another week,” Kayla said. “It’s all part of the job, right?”
“Yep,” I said grimly, picturing the parade of overnight feedings that stretched out in front of me. Sleep was already slippery and hard to grasp, despite the fact that I was tired all the damned time. Getting up to feed the litter was going to make it ten times worse.
Cash’s brow creased and he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He glanced at the clock once more and I got it. I gave him a nod and he returned it before disappearing, the front door closing moments later.
Kayla picked up a syringe and laid the first kitten on his stomach. She slipped the nipple expertly into his mouth, and it was a relief when he started sucking greedily.
“If they all eat that fast, at least they won’t keep me out of bed for too long,” I said with a wry smile. “Now if I could just get people to stop turning up on my doorstep at all hours.”
Kayla grimaced. “About that.”
“What?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t going to tell me she’d scheduled an after-hours patient or a difficult procedure. I wasn’t sure I was going to survive the day, let alone working late.
She let out an apologetic sigh. “I just got a text. You know Alan Springer, the large-animal vet over in South Hill? He broke his leg last night. He’s out of commission for at least six weeks and Jim usually covers for him, so you’ll probably be getting some calls. You’re good with horses and cattle, right?”
I groaned. “How many horses do you think I’ve treated in suburban Cincinnati, Kayla?”
Kayla wrangled another kitten into place and shrugged as she shoved the nipple into his mouth. “Well, first time for everything, I guess. And maybe you’ll get lucky and nobody will call.”
I snorted. We both knew that the chances of nobody having a large-animal emergency for six weeks were about the same as all of my patients’ owners following post-surgery instructions.
I shoved any panic I felt to the back of my mind for now and focused on feeding the kittens. I hadn’t saved the mother, but at least we’d rescued the babies, and getting to snuggle with cute baby animals never got old—although dabbing at their asses with a damp cotton ball to make them poop was less fun.
Still, it didn’t take long before all four kittens were fed and toileted and Kayla set them up in a carrier. Then she looked me up and down with her hands on her hips. “Tell me, Doc, were you planning to see your patients looking like a meth dealer?”
“I don’t look like a meth dealer!”
“You don’t look like someone I’d trust with my pet either.” She shooed me upstairs, saying, “I’ll clean up here. You go get tidy. You’ve got ten minutes.”
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out and went upstairs as directed. There was no time to shower, so I made do with splashing my face with cold water, brushing my teeth, and changing into my scrubs. I pulled my hair back into a bun as I hurried back downstairs.
And yeah, I looked rough, but meth dealer rough? That was harsh.
My phone buzzed as I reached reception, and I took it out of my pocket to see it was a call from Mom. I ignored it. Whatever the latest divorce drama was, I didn’t want to hear it. Was it too much to ask that my parents kept their bullshit to themselves and stopped trying to make me take sides? They were supposed to be the goddamn adults here.
Well, we were all adults, actually, but shouldn’t they have been the adultier adults?
Kayla flashed me a smile from behind her computer. “Your first appointment is Mrs. Hendricks, and—” She glanced out the window. “Here she is now. Vaccination and health check for Milo.”
Milo was a seventeen-year-old Maltipoo who was in shockingly good health apart from a little arthritis. The same couldn’t be said for Mrs. Hendricks, who was pushing an oxygen tank along on her walker. It took her an interminable amount of time to get to the front door, and even longer to get into the consult room because she took Kayla’s “Good morning, Mrs. Hendricks. How are you?” as an invitation to tell her exactly how she was in incredible detail.
When I finally got her into the consult room and had given her the good news about Milo’s health, I produced the syringesfor the rabies and DAPP vaccines, and she hummed and said, “My niece Bethany says that vaccines cause autism.”
I held up the first syringe. “This is a combined vaccine for distemper, both types of adenovirus, parainfluenza, and parvo.” I held up the second. “And this is for rabies. I don’t think you want Milo getting rabies.”
“I don’t want him to get autism either.”
“Milo is adog,” I said, forcing a smile while I resisted the urge to ask her how she trusted science and doctors enough to diagnose and treat her COPD but couldn’t extend them the same courtesy when it came to her dog. I was also desperately curious to ask her if she was worried that he might become nonverbal. But I didn’t, because I was pretty sure the sarcasm would go straight over her head and she’d probably take it as my agreement that vaccines caused autism. “He is a happy and friendly dog, and it’s the law in Virginia that he has to be vaccinated against rabies.”
Mrs. Hendricks wasn’t happy about it, but Milo got both his boosters in the end.
And that was my day in a nutshell, really. My patients were great, but their owners varied. Mrs. Hendricks had been a trial, but the next owner, Alice Stretton, was a treasure. She didn’t just bring her cat in—she brought a lemon pound cake that had no right to taste that good, and a plate of cookies. She was lovely, and her cat was in good health, and I wished every pet owner was like her, and every consultation. The two scheduled surgeries of the day went fine—both sterilizations—and Kayla bullied me out of the clinic after surgery to go and get lunch even though I’d already had cake and cookies. It was possible she just wanted me out from underfoot. I wasn’t used to downtime in my workday; I didn’t get much of it at the clinic in Cincinnati. I took Dog with me and tied him up outside Gobble de Goose while I boughta spinach and feta roll. Cash’s twin wasn’t working. Instead, a good-looking guy with tattoos was manning the counter.
I ate my roll on the walk home to the clinic.
When Dog and I got back, I put Dog in the backyard, and then helped Kayla feed the kittens. I’d barely finished when it was time for the afternoon appointments, and the rest of the day flew by in a wave of vaccinations, one sprained paw, and a dachshund who had to be muzzled for a nail trim because he was just dramatic that way. All in all, it was a good day, but something was missing.
