New Beginnings (5 page)

Chapter Eight

I
'll skip the vet's,” I say. “I need to head home and get started on my homework.”

“Oh, come on, Jules,” Dad says. “I know how much you love animals—maybe there will be some you can pet.” He's heading up the walkway to the clinic.

A sign out front says

D
R
. M
AC
'
S
P
LACE

D
R
. J. J. M
AC
K
ENZIE

Three run-ins with Maggie are enough for one day. I can't handle another. Plus, I doubt having the veterinarian's granddaughter hate me is good for Mom and Dad's business. They'll probably find out sooner or later, but I'd rather avoid their disappointment today.

“We'll only be a few minutes,” Dad says. “Then it's home for dinner.”

I make eye contact with Josh so he'll help me out of this, but all he says is “Yeah, Jules, let's check it out. Maybe we'll see some cats and dogs or maybe even something exotic—a snake or a ferret or something.”

I have no choice but to follow them in.

A bell jangles as we enter the clinic, but no one is there except a huge orange tabby half asleep on the counter. He looks up at us, blinks his eyes as if he is bored with our company, then curls back up again.

“Hello,” Dad calls out.

A big old basset hound galumphs in from a side room to greet us. I stay behind Josh, near the front exit, eyeing the door the basset hound came from. Maggie could be right behind him.

“Hello, buddy,” Josh says, bending to pet the dog.

Still, no one comes out. “Well, let's just sit and wait a few moments,” Dad says, sitting in one of the waiting room chairs.

“No, we'd better go,” I say. “They're probably already closed.”

“It's only five forty-five,” Dad says. “The sign says they are open until six, the door was unlocked, and the lights are all on.”

The basset comes to sniff my ankles, wagging his tail. He leans against my legs and looks up at me with his big, sad eyes. He's kind of drooly, but cute. I can't help myself—I have to give him some pats. Then some rubs around his ears. He loves it and lies on his side, so I give him a good belly rub.

Down the hall, a door labeled Dolittle Room opens, and David Hutchinson, the kid who showed Josh around school, pokes his head out. He's cradling something tiny wrapped in a towel against his chest. A tiny squeak comes from the bundle.

“Oh hi,” David says, smiling when he sees Josh. “Dr. Mac is a little busy right now. Is there an emergency?”

“No, no, not at all,” Dad says, standing up. “Take your time. We just wanted to stop in and say hello. We can come back tomorrow.”

“I'll tell Dr. Mac you're here,” David says. He disappears back into the exam room, but he keeps the door open. The basset hound rolls over to his feet and makes his rounds to Dad. The dog wags his tail and looks up expectantly until Dad gives him some pats and ruffles his long ears.

I hear more tiny squeaks from the room. I want to look in, but I don't want to see Maggie or have her see me. Josh walks slowly toward the open door. I nudge him forward and whisper, “Give me a signal if Maggie's in there.”

As Josh gets closer to the door, a tall woman with short white hair, glasses, and blue eyes comes out to the hallway. She's holding a tiny gray kitten with its eyes still closed, wrapped in a towel, too. “I'm Dr. Mac,” she says.

Dad introduces all three of us.

“David tells me you bought the hardware store?” Dr. Mac says. “And I see Sherlock Holmes is saying hello,” she adds, nodding toward the old basset hound, who is licking my hands and won't leave my side. He's so affectionate.

“My daughter has a way with animals,” Dad says.

“A sixth sense,” Josh pipes in.

“I can see that,” says Dr. Mac. “I'll be with you in just a minute.”

Behind her I can hear faint but persistent squeaky little mews. The kittens must be very young. Josh peeks in.

“You can take a look if you want,” Dr. Mac says.

Josh goes in. Dad and I are right behind him.

Luckily, Maggie is not there, just David, Dr. Mac, and five of the tiniest, cutest kittens I've ever seen. Two are gray, two are black, and there's a little calico, too. I smell the familiar kitty smell, just like at the shelter in Pittsburgh. Man, do I miss volunteering there.

David is sitting in a chair with a towel on his lap, holding a black kitten and feeding it from a tiny bottle. Dr. Mac unwraps and weighs the one she was holding. Three more kittens are all on top of each other in a blanket-lined cardboard box, little squeaky mews calling, their tiny paws moving as they inch about on their bellies.

None of them have open eyes. They are so adorable.

“Someone left them on the clinic doorstep this morning, with a note that they were found in the high school parking lot,” Dr. Mac says. “We don't know what happened to their mother, but they're only a day or two old.”

“How can you tell?” Josh asks.

“Their umbilical cord stubs are still attached, and they only weigh about four ounces each.”

Dr. Mac puts the kitten she just weighed back in the box with its siblings and picks up another one. She tests the temperature of the small bottle of kitty formula on her wrist and feeds the new kitten, who paws at the bottle with skinny legs and the tiniest pink-padded paws. When the kitten sucks the bottle, his ears wiggle back and forth in concentration. His little face is too cute, eyes closed, with drops of formula on his fuzzy muzzle.

“They're so tiny. Are they going to be okay without their mother?” I ask.

“Well, they'd be much better off being cared for by her. A mama cat's milk has colostrum, which helps prevent infection and disease. Without their mother's milk, they are more susceptible to all kinds of illnesses. So we have to keep them warm and hydrated and growing with this kitty formula. We'll need to feed them every one to two hours and weigh them every day to make sure they are gaining weight. And of course watch them carefully for any signs of dehydration, illness, or parasites. They were covered with fleas when we got them, so we've used a special kitten-safe flea formula and combed out all the fleas. Kittens can become anemic from fleas.”

David holds his little black kitten upright against his chest and pats its back. “Burping it, like a baby,” he says with a smile. “Too bad they don't make kitty diapers.”

I never worked with kittens this young in Pittsburgh. Those kittens always had their eyes open and could walk around a little.

Josh steps forward and asks exactly what I'm thinking. “Do you need any help feeding the others?”

I'm ready to wash my hands and get right to work, but Dr. Mac says, “No thanks, David has helped me feed all five this time. And my granddaughter, Maggie, will be home from basketball practice any minute now. She'll help with the next feedings. By tomorrow, I'm hoping the Feral Cat Rescue Society can find a suitable foster family or two to take care of them until they are old enough to be adopted out. It's a lot of work, feeding them and keeping them clean twenty-four hours a day.”

I look at Dad, hoping he'll volunteer our family, but he doesn't. He just says how cute the kittens are and gives his little talk about the hardware store and says he's sorry to bother Dr. Mac when she's so busy.

“Oh, no bother,” Dr. Mac says. “Nice to meet you all. Looks like you know David already, so you'll have to meet Maggie next time around.”

Josh smiles and says, “I think my sister and I have already met Maggie, right, Jules?”

I nod and, cute kittens or not, suddenly have the urge to get out of there as fast as I can.

Chapter Nine

W
hen we get home, I can't help thinking how cool it'd be to volunteer at Dr. Mac's. But I shake the thought from my head because after all my arguments with Maggie, I'm sure it's impossible. I'll volunteer at the local shelter instead. Of course now Josh and I have to focus on our Chewie plan. We've got just a few minutes before dinner, so we have to figure out our best strategy. Sophie won't leave Josh's room, so we have to let her in on the plan, too.

“I can keep a secret!” Sophie promises.

“You'd better! Now, Jules, step one,” Josh says. “Your adorable rabbit is now named Cuddles.”

“Sounds good. Cuddles it is,” I reply.

“Step two,” Josh says. “We write a permission note all ready and easy for signing, except we avoid using Cuddles's old name or her new name. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

Josh types the permission note on his computer and prints it out.

 

Dear Mr. Hart,

Our daughter, Julia Darrow, has permission to adopt the science classroom rabbit. We understand that owning a pet is a big responsibility, and will supervise Julia as she takes care of the rabbit.

   Thank you for providing the cage, litter box, and water bottle.

Sincerely,

John and Lynn Darrow

 

“Do you really think we can get Mom and Dad to sign it?” I ask.

“That's step three,” Josh says. “Just leave it to me, but have the note and a pen nearby during dinner. We'll wait for a good moment, and then I'll bring it up. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I say. “And Sophie, don't say anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Sophie says. Sophie loves being in on a secret, but she usually blows it. I hope she can keep quiet tonight.

• • • • •

During dinner Mom and Dad talk about the details of opening the hardware store.

“We can't have any spots on the miniature roses at the cash register,” Mom says.

“I know, no spots,” Dad says.

“After all, the store is called Wrenches and Roses, so the roses have to be perfect.”

“Right,” Dad says. Even Dad is looking tired and stressed. He's got bags under his eyes. He needs more sleep.

I keep looking at Josh, but he shakes his head, telling me the time is not right to bring up Chewie—I mean Cuddles.

“Good pasta, Mom,” Josh finally says. “May I have more, please?”

“Of course,” Mom says. “Help yourself.”

We're getting nowhere, and dinner is almost over.

“Want to hear about my new school?” Sophie asks.

I shake my head, but Josh says, “Sure.”

“We have a pet rat named Ratty,” Sophie says.

“Huh,” Mom says. “That's an interesting animal for a classroom. Some people think rats are pests, not pets. By the way”—she turns to my dad—“did you order rat traps to carry in the store?”

Dad nods, and Sophie frowns. She looks like she is about to cry. Poor Sophie. I want to take her mind off what I'm sure she is picturing—her classroom pet stuck in a trap. Ugh. So I try to think how to bring up the topic of another classroom pet—Chewie.

I lean toward Sophie, and the pen in my pocket pokes me in the leg. “My science teacher wants me to adopt the classroom rabbit,” I blurt out. Josh looks at me like I'm crazy.

What was I thinking? I should have left this to Josh, but I keep going. “He said the rabbit needs a new home, so I should give it a try. We'd be doing Mr. Hart a favor.”

Josh and Sophie stare at me wide-eyed. Mom and Dad stop eating and stare at me, too.

“He said he would give us the cage and water bottle and litter box, too,” I say, “so that won't cost us a thing. I can buy rabbit food with my allowance, and we already have fresh produce like bits of lettuce and carrot nubs we'd be throwing out anyway.”

Mom and Dad look at each other.

“Did you already tell your teacher yes?” Mom asks.

“I told him I would ask,” I say. That's mostly true.

“You promised we could get a pet,” Sophie says. “Please! Pretty please with hopping bunnies on top!”

“A rabbit would be a whole lot better than a rat,” Josh says.

Dad laughs and looks at Mom. “I think we're outnumbered.”

Mom does not seem convinced. She sighs. “How big is this rabbit, and where would we put him?”

“Her,” I say. “She's really small, a dwarf with lop ears. She's used to being indoors in her cage. So Sophie and I can keep her in our room. Later, maybe I can build her an agility corral in the basement, once we clean it up. You're going to love her, Mom. She's got the softest brown and white fur. Plus, she's litter-box trained. And when Dad and I build some planter boxes filled with roses for the front of the store, the rabbit droppings will make good compost. We could even sell the compost in the store.” I try not to twist the permission note under the table.

“Caring for a pet is a big responsibility,” Mom says.

“I know. I'll take care of her, Mom, I promise. You won't have to do a thing.”

“I'll help,” Josh says.

“Me too,” says Sophie.

“She's totally adorable,” I say. “I just know she'll be a really great family pet!”

“What is this adorable rabbit's name?” Mom asks.

“Cuddles,” Josh, Sophie, and I say in unison.

Dad winks at me.

Mom looks at Dad. “We did promise a pet,” Mom says. “But I think we should try it on a one-week trial basis. If you take good care of her, do all your other chores, and keep up with your schoolwork, you can keep her.”

I pull the folded permission note and pen from under the table.

“What's this?” Mom says.

“A permission letter. You have to sign it, and we have to pick up Ch— er, Cuddles—tomorrow after school.”

Mom and Dad both read the letter.

Josh is smiling. Sophie claps and says, “Yippee, we're getting a bunny.”

“Wait a sec,” Mom says, taking the note and pen. “Before we all start celebrating . . .”

She signs the note then adds:

 

P.S. We'd like to have Cuddles join us for a one-week trial basis. If that is agreeable to you, we will pick up Cuddles, her cage, and supplies on Tuesday afternoon.

Thank you.

 

Mom adds our phone number to the note and hands it back to me.

My heart flip-flops as I read it. What if Mr. Hart doesn't like our giving Chewie a new name? What if he decides just to send her to a foster home instead? Josh stands up and gives Mom and Dad a hug. So do Sophie and I.

“Nothing's going to go wrong,” Josh says. “You won't regret it.”

Sophie hops around the kitchen, singing, “Yay, yay, yay!”

Mom sighs again. “I think I regret it already,” she says, but she says it with a big smile. I feel like singing yay, too, but instead I take the note and say, “Thanks, Mom and Dad. You're going to love Cuddles.”

But I think,
One week. I have to keep everything perfect for just one week.