Page 84 of Forget About Me

Morrissey scans my notes. “From what Lucy tells me, it sounds like he’s got an abscess. Does he get into fights with other cats?”

“Well yes, sometimes. But he didn’t have any scratches.”

The vet sits on the bench next to Mrs. Adams. “The small puncture wounds from a cat bite heal over quickly, but some pretty nasty bacteria can get trapped underneath. All this?” She points at the swelling on the top of John Boy’s head. “Is pus. If we don’t treat it, it will be something to worry about, but we can very easily lance it and drain it and give him an antibiotic. We’ll take him in the back and take care of it and then send you home with some meds, okay?”

Mrs. Adams grips John Boy protectively. “Do you want me to hold him while you do it?”

“Oh, no. Lucy can take care of that.” Morrissey winks at the woman. “He might get a little feisty, and I like you better than I like her.”

I grunt out a laugh at her joke, even as the cat growls.

“Will it hurt him?” John Boy’s mama asks.

“He’ll feel much better once it’s over, believe me,” I say, my voice soothing. She hesitates briefly before handing him over to me with a resigned sigh.

A few minutes later, I’ve donned padded gloves and have John Boy pinned. When Dr. Morrissey leans in to open the abscess, pus explodes from the cat’s cheek, spraying us both.

“Ugh. So disgusting.”

“Gets me every time.” She quickly sponges the wound with hydrogen peroxide. “Like a volcano.”

“Reminds me of when I used to watch my older brother pop his zits.”

“Ha!” She shakes her head as she squeezes fluid from the opening. “I did that too!”

“We’re not normal.”

“Probably not.”

Thankfully, the cat has relaxed into my hold. “Poor kitty,” I coo. “You were super swollen. You’re a much handsomer boy without all that fluid backed up in your face.”

As she gives him the antibiotics injection, I ask, “Hey, could I talk to you about something at the end of the day today?”

She gives me a sharp look, as she drops the needle in the sharps bin. “As long as it’s not about you quitting.”

“Oh, no, no. The opposite, really. It’s an idea I have.” John Boy growls. “Easy, buddy.”

Looking down, she unbuttons her lab coat. “Gonna have to change this out.” She checks her watch. “I’ll have some time at the end of the day since I don’t have to pick up the kids.” She points at me. “But you have to talk Mrs. Adams into neutering this guy.”

“I guess one more chat about balls won’t kill me.”

Ten minutes later, after I make the argument that her cat will be healthier and happier without his testicles, Mrs. Adams goes home to discuss the matter of fixing their cat with her husband.

“I just hate to deprive him of that pleasure,” she whispers.

Once she’s gone, I clean the exam room with extra vigor, hoping to dispel some nervous energy. I rehearsed my pitch with my parents and brothers last night, so I think I’m ready to present it to Dr. Morrissey.

Then it hits me.

Is that what Ben had been doing?

Maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t trust me. Maybe he was telling other people about the accident before he told me because when the stakes are high, it’s vital to get it right.

At the end of the day, as I lower my butt into the chair across from Dr. Morrissey in her office, I mentally go over all the reasons why this is a good plan for both of us. Then I straighten my little stack of papers, clear my throat and start my rehearsed speech.

“There is clearly a demand for canine behavioral services here in Boston, because my answering service is getting calls from new clients every single day. The problem is, I’m spending so much time driving around town to meet with individual clients, I can’t take on new ones. I need a home base where I can train dogs and their people one-on-one, but also lead group classes.”

When Dr. Morrissey opens her mouth, I hold up a hand. “Just hear me out, please?” At her nod, I continue. “As I said, I don’t want to give up my position here. So far, it’s been good for both of us.”

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