Owen wandered down while I was getting the coffeemaker ready. There was no sign of Hercules. I gave Owen his breakfast and after he’d finished eating and washing his face he made a beeline for the back door.
“I’m leaving in an hour,” I said. “Make sure you’re back.”
The only response was an offhanded murp.
I was washing the dessert dishes from the night before, singing along to Ultimate Manilow since Owen—who wasn’t a fan—wasn’t in the house, when I heard him meowing at the back door. He was on the top step and my heart began to pound the moment I saw him. There was a long scratch across his nose and another on his right front paw, but the most serious injury was a tear in his left ear that was matted with blood. He seemed to be more angry than anything. He looked back over his shoulder and his tail whipped across the step.
I bent down and checked him over carefully. I didn’t see any other injuries but I was still worried. Owen had been in altercations before, but just minor scuffles, one with another cat and one with the Justasons’ dog when he was just a kitten. That little skirmish was the reason the dog had given him a wide berth ever since.
I picked Owen up and carried him into the kitchen. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and called Roma at home.
“It looks like he was in a fight with some other animal but I don’t think it was the Justasons’ dog. I didn’t hear him bark and, anyway, he tends to bolt if he sees Owen,” I told her.
“Yeah, he is kind of a big chicken,” Roma agreed. “It sounds as though Owen’s injuries aren’t too serious and his shots are all up to date, although he might need stitches in that ear based on what you described.”
My heart sank at the word “stitches.” Owen was an uncooperative patient at the best of times. To say he was going to overreact to having to get stitches was an understatement.
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking down at the cat in my lap. He reminded me of a boxer who had just taken the match by a knockout. Although he was injured, there was something cocky in his posture.
“Not until I see him,” Roma said. “And yes, I know what you’re thinking, but if Owen needs stitches I can make it work. I’ll see you at the clinic in a few minutes.”
I ended the call and felt a wave of relief roll over me. Owen was watching me, his golden eyes narrowed.
“I know you don’t exactly like Roma,” I began.
He gave a sour-sounding meow of confirmation.
“But she needs to fix your ear.”
Owen immediately shook his head and winced a little. I had no idea how he understood what I said but I had no doubt that he did, and given the whole invisibility thing it wasn’t really that unbelievable.
“She needs to fix your ear and so you need to go to the clinic and be nice.”
He didn’t make a sound but the glare he gave me made his opinion very clear.
I got to my feet, nudging the chair back under the table with one foot. I wasn’t sure I could trust Owen not to pull a vanishing act over this.
I bent my head close to his. “Okay, furball, here’s the deal,” I said. “You have to go to the clinic but you don’t have to be nice and when we get home you can have an entire can of sardines. All to yourself.”
Owen immediately swiveled his head to stare at the cupboard where I kept the cats’ food. I walked over to the cupboard, grabbed the oblong-shaped can and set it on the table. “Deal?” I asked, feeling a little silly over negotiating with a cat.
“Mrr,” he said.
I grabbed my purse and managed to tuck my phone inside one-handed. I didn’t even try to put on a jacket, trusting that my heavy sweater would be warm enough. I didn’t want to set Owen down and take a chance that he’d bolt.
• • •
Roma and I both pulled into the clinic’s parking lot at the same time. I’d settled Owen next to me on the passenger side of the truck, knowing if I tried to get him in the cat carrier that I would have a mutiny on my hands. I got out and lifted him from the seat.
Roma walked over and leaned in to look at Owen. She didn’t make any attempt to touch him. Neither cat dealt well with being touched by anyone other than me. It was just another one of their idiosyncrasies that over time I’d gotten used to.
“Not too bad,” she said. She smiled at the cat. “I have a feeling the other guy looks worse.”
Owen straightened up in my arms as though this was a point of pride for him.
Roma laughed. “I swear he knows what I just said.”
“I think he knows a lot more that anyone would believe,” I said.
I followed Roma inside and she got us settled in one of the examining rooms. “You can set him on the table,” she said to me.
I put Owen down on the stainless-steel surface. “Think sardines,” I whispered. He immediately sat down and looked up at me, all the picture of innocence.
Roma ended up giving Owen a tranquilizer, which made working on him a little easier. She checked him over carefully, cleaned his scratches and managed—with me holding him—to put four stitches in his ear.
“That should do it,” she said finally.
Owen sat on the exam table wearing a green fabric collar, looking slightly loopy.
Roma pulled off her gloves. “The fabric collar is adjustable and it’s more comfortable. I think Owen will put up with it a bit better than with a plastic cone.” She smiled down at him and he almost seemed to smile back at her, although his golden eyes didn’t quite focus.
I had already called Abigail, who once she heard what had happened, had offered to open the library for me. I’d also called Marcus to tell him I wouldn’t be able to make our breakfast date. Now I hugged Roma before carefully picking Owen up. “Thank you for coming in early,” I said.
“For you, anytime,” she said. “You should bring him back tomorrow so I can take a look at those stitches.” She frowned. “Did you leave the carrier in your truck?”
“I just put him on the seat,” I said. “I didn’t even think about the carrier.” I felt a little embarrassed. Roma had pointed out a couple of times that Owen and Hercules would be a lot safer in the truck if they traveled in the carrier. And I knew she was right. It was also impossible to do a lot of the time, since Owen would just disappear and Hercules would walk right through the side of the bag.
I had just gotten Owen settled on the passenger side of the truck when Marcus called.
“How’s Owen?” he asked.
“He has stitches, but other than that, he’s fine. We’re just about to head home.”
“I’ll see you there,” Marcus said. I could feel his smile through the phone.
Owen and I had just gotten out of the truck a few minutes later, when Marcus pulled into the driveway behind me. He was carrying a take-out bag from Eric’s Place.
“Breakfast,” he said, holding it up.
I stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
Owen meowed loudly. Translation: “Pay attention to me.”
Marcus looked down at him. “Why no plastic collar?” he asked.
“Roma said this one is more comfortable and it’s adjustable. She’s hoping Owen might actually keep it on.”
“Well, not everyone could make that collar work, but you can,” he said to the cat as we started around the house. “Do you have any idea what the other guy looks like?” he asked me.
I handed him my keys so he could open the back door. “I don’t even know who or what the other guy is,” I said. “I’m just hoping it’s not the Justasons’ dog.”
Marcus unlocked the door and I set Owen on the floor just inside the kitchen. He stretched, made his way over to the table and meowed loudly. The tranquilizer Roma had given him seemed to be wearing off with no aftereffects.
“I kind of promised him a plate of sardines if he didn’t bite Roma,” I said to Marcus.