I glance to the left of the call screen where a reminder flashes angry red letters at me. The designs are due in twenty minutes. No designs means no paycheck. No paycheck… well, that means no vet visit at a minimum.
She must have sensed my hesitation and says, “Dr. Bruester’s about to leave, but if you bring Pantone into the clinic now, I’m sure he’d be willing to cut you an after-hours deal. It’s probably nothing, but better to be sure. Better to do what’s best for Pantone.”
But what about what’s best for me? I have to eat, too.
Pantone meows. I HURT… A LOT.
Shit. Double shit. This is why I don’t like pets. Pantone headbutts me in the forehead, and I find myself saying, “We’ll be there shortly.”
Stacey ends the call as Pantone lets loose a raspy-hurried purr. I HURT.
I give his ears a careful scratch before setting off in search of the cat carrier. Maybe Garner Tech really does use child labor. I’d be doing the world a favor by not giving them a flashy new logo.
My cat lays on his side, very still.
Pantone buries his head in the crook of my elbow. A brief knock announces Dr. Bruester’s return, and Pantone trembles in my arms.
Two hundred dollars. The cost of a brief exam and blood draw. Another three hundred for a quick bio-scan. My doctor appointments are cheaper than my cat’s, and I frown.
Dr. Bruester’s furrowed brows and squared shoulders make me regret it already. Something is wrong, and wrong usually spirals into expensive. Too expensive… I might have to put Pantone down.
This is why I didn’t want a pet to begin with. I can barely afford me.
The metal table between the doctor and me is littered with cat hair, which he brushes off before taking a seat. He pops his tablet into its stand and swivels it so I can see. Numbers and squiggles scroll across its screen—not that they make any sense to me.
“Melana, has Pantone ingested anything unusual or odd in the last few hours?”
His question throws me, and I shuffle through the afternoon’s memories. Pantone had complained he was hungry. I’d finished the second design. He’d complained again. I’d continued working. Joanie had arrived home. Pantone had complained.
In fact, he’d complained all the way up until I’d silenced the collar, and after that, he’d continued to vocalize until around four. Where’d he been at four? I frown. Had he been with me, or had he wandered off to another portion of the condo?
“Um, I’m not sure. He’s been very vocal about his hunger all day. I had to silence the collar to get some work done….”
Dr. Bruester purses his lips into a tight circle. “Was there anything odd laying around the house he could have ingested? Any garlic left over from food preparation? Houseplants? New Furniture?”
Pantone’s damp paws leave furry prints across the examination table as he approaches the vet. I HURT.
“No,” I say and shake my head. Pantone slinks back to me and head-butts me in the arm. “Nothing like that. I barely have the money in my account for this appointment, let alone new stuff. Why’d you bring it up? What’s wrong with Pantone?”
“He’s ingested something toxic. The blood work doesn’t give me a clear picture of what, only that it’s causing acute kidney failure. You said he was hungry, so I assume he’s eaten something he shouldn’t have. Though the scan didn’t show any blockages. Any chance he got into the garbage compactor or the garage?”
“The garbage compactor is emptied hourly, and Pantone’s never left the condo. Our building doesn’t even have a parking garage. The only plant I had died last—well, it died. I’m—I’m not good with living things.” I glance at Pantone and frown. “It’s why I got the collar. You know, so I could know what he needed.”
Something tickles my brain, but Dr. Bruester interrupts when he asks, “What kind of plant was it?”
Pantone coughs, then vomits a mix of stomach acid and pink… something. “Is that chewing gum?” I ask as I point.
“Doubtful.” Dr. Bruester scrapes some into a plastic dish. “I’ll scan this in a moment and see what it is. Since money is an issue, we’ll need to administer charcoal and get Pantone on IV fluids to flush the kidneys. He’ll remain with us in the hospital for a day or two to see if the treatment takes. Of course, we’d be more successful if we knew what he got a hold of. Maybe look around your condo for clues.”
My brain buzzes like the Cat-Speak 4.0 collar when wet. “Dr. Bruester, how much is all of this going to cost? I mean, I want Pantone to be okay and all, but money’s tight right now. I don’t know if I can afford two days in the cat hospital.”
He pets Pantone on the head as he levels his gaze on me. “I’ll fetch the total for you, but I would highly encourage you to agree to the treatment. Without it, Pantone could die.”
As if my now unfinished (and unpaid for) designs aren’t sucker-punching me enough, Dr. Bruester’s words claw their way into my gut where they duke it out with my guilt. If I had money, they’d just synthesize a new kidney or something, I’m sure. And if I’d fed Pantone earlier, maybe he wouldn’t have gone searching for something else to eat. My first pet and of course I’ve fucked it up. He’s gone and eaten—Oh god. The lily.
“I think I figured it out!” I say, and Dr. Bruester pauses in his scan of the pink goo. “I landed a last minute design gig this week, and they sent me flowers. Well, lilies really. It was—” I glance at Pantone as he vomits up spittle and a wad of petal, “—pink. Are they bad for kitties? I didn’t think he’d actually eat it.”
“They’re toxic to most cats and dogs. And you’d be surprised at what cats will eat. We’ll confirm the lily with our sample here to ensure he didn’t ingest anything else.”
“Does Pantone still need to be checked into the hospital?”
Dr. Bruester nods. “The treatment is mostly the same for a wide range of edible toxins.” He turns off the scan-lens he wears and stares at me with his own green eyes. “I want you to understand—we’ll do everything we can for Pantone, everything within your… budget—but we can’t guarantee anything. Every animal reacts differently to toxins and poisons. We’ll make him as comfortable as possible.”
He points at the tablet. At the bottom of a long list is the total—a bright red number that equals my rent and then some. A lot of some.
If I did this, he might get better. Not that it would do him any good, because we’d probably be homeless next. “Can you give me any odds? I mean, if I spend all this money and then he dies anyway, what’s the point?” I ask.
Dr. Bruester nods, but his shoulders are slumped as he strokes Pantone’s fur. “Usually by the time an animal reaches us, it’s too late. They can’t talk to us—“ I raise an eyebrow at him, and he clears his throat. “—Yes, tech like the collar can help, but Pantone still can’t tell you when he ate the lily. We can administer the charcoal and give him fluids, but after that, we wait. The decision of what to do is yours.”
I glance down at Pantone. Sweet little hungry-goblin. Annoying, hungry-goblin.
God, if I had tossed the lily—hell, if only I had never taken the Garner Tech job to begin with. How did people do this?
Pantone’s muscles quiver beneath my touch, but his purr is strong.
I LOVE YOU.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, but I manage to choke out a few words. “I love you, too, little purr-bucket.”