“Yeah, but first the kittens,” Maggie says, tilting her head toward the box full of noisy little mews. “Can you get the little calico? She’s the next up. I tried to feed her first, but she kept turning away from me and the bottle.”
“Okay,” I say to Maggie, and then I pick up the little calico from the pile of kittens. She looks smaller and weaker than the others, who are climbing all over each other, mewing loudly for food. “Come here, little girl,” I say, and carefully lift her to the towel in my lap. Her head droops and her neck muscles seem weak. She is so skinny I can see her little hip bones, ribs, and backbone.
“The others are gaining weight and thriving,” Maggie says. “I’m worried about her.”
I test the temperature of the formula to be sure it’s not too hot or too cold. But when I put the bottle near the calico’s mouth, she turns away. I try to get a little formula on her tiny chin and mouth but she doesn’t lick, bite, or suck. Then she shivers. I wrap her in a towel to warm her, but she keeps turning away.
Maggie watches me. “See what I mean?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and I put her back in with her siblings to stay warm. She scoots to join them, sighing deeply when she is back in the furry pile.
I get out of the chair and sit cross-legged on the floor next to the box. “I wonder,” I say, taking off my gloves, “if maybe she doesn’t like the gloves or the hand soap? It must be so different from the feel and smell of her brothers and sisters. I gently slide my clean bare hands back and forth over the remaining kittens in the box, rubbing both the backs and the fronts of my hands and fingers.
“What are you doing?” Maggie says.
“I’m trying to make my hands smell more familiar to her. That might be more comforting.”
I take out all but the calico and place the pile of four snuggling kittens on the towel in my lap. I rub the fronts and backs of my hands on the kittens again.
“I hope this works,” I say, and I carefully place the calico on top of the four-kitten huddle. She settles in, looking warm and comfortable. I squirt a tiny bit of formula on the fur of the kitten right in front of the calico’s nose and mouth. She sneezes.
“Oopsie,” I say. Then she licks the milky fur of her sibling. I add another drop of formula, and she licks that, too. I try the bottle with her atop the kitten pileup and she lifts her head and begins to suck, slowly at first, then more consistently. The kitten sucks the milk down, eyes closed, her tiny milky mouth and whiskers moving as she makes little um, um sounds. I have to keep steadying her atop the wobbling kitten huddle, but she seems to like it there. It takes a while, and her brothers and sisters are a little dripped on by the time we are through, but she drinks most of the bottle. I put her siblings back in the box. When I pick her up to burp her on my shoulder, her belly feels nice and round. I use a wet cotton ball to make her poop, like I saw Josh and David doing. Then I gently return her to the warm comfort of her brothers and sisters. She falls right to sleep.
“How’d you know to do that?” Maggie asks.
“I didn’t know,” I say. “Must be beginner’s luck, I guess.”
I glance at Cuddles in her cage. She sits comfortably now, with her funny pink-and-purple-striped bellyband doing its job. She’s sipping from her water bottle again, thank goodness. I take a deep breath as I pick up another kitten, smelling the fuzzy kitty smell and feeling the warm wiggliness.
I exhale, and my shoulders relax. I turn to look at Maggie, and I see she’s watching me. I am so relieved about Cuddles and the kittens and all that’s happened—and Maggie must know it. I want to look away from Maggie staring at me. But I don’t. We keep eye contact with each other for a few awkward seconds longer, and it’s as if we’re finally seeing each other for the first time.
“Hi,” Maggie says, raising her eyebrows at me and smiling.
Hi? That’s odd. We’ve been working together this last hour and now she’s saying hi? I guess Maggie knows how I feel.
“Don’t you wish we could start over,” I say, “and pretend that all the other stuff before today never happened? Maybe create some kind of new beginning to meeting each other?”
Maggie nods.
“Me too,” I say. “Hi, Maggie. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter Twenty
Dr. Mac arrives as we’re feeding the last two kittens.
“Is everything okay?” she asks. “I got here as soon as I could. How’s Cuddles? Oh my! What a great solution!” She laughs as she kneels down to look at Cuddles in the pink-and-purple-striped finery in her cage.
Cuddles sniffs at her parsley, then takes a tiny nibble from her apple.
“Looks like Cuddles is thinking about eating again. That’s good,” Dr. Mac says. “Let’s not disturb her for the moment. I’ll wash up, and when you finish feeding that kitten, Jules, you can take Cuddles out and I’ll have a closer look at her.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m glad Dr. Mac is here, but I already feel like Cuddles is going to be fine.
Dr. Mac washes her hands while Maggie and I tell her what happened and how we worked together to take care of Cuddles.
I hand the kitten to Maggie to burp. I wash my hands, then bring Cuddles to the exam table once again. Dr. Mac puts her gloves on and looks Cuddles over. She listens to her heart and digestive tract with her stethoscope.
“Everything sounds good. Her breathing and heart rate are normal, and her gastrointestinal tract is functioning. That’s very important for rabbits, especially after surgery.”
Dr. Mac takes Cuddles’s temperature again. It is now 103.
“A little high, but it’s coming down,” Dr. Mac says. “Now, Jules, could you please cradle her on her back with her belly exposed so I can take a look at the incision site?”
Cuddles lets me hold her, and Dr. Mac gently folds the bellyband back and takes a look. “I see, yes, Cuddles has pulled out two external sutures, but your butterfly bandages are holding nicely. The bleeding has stopped. Good teamwork, you two,” she says.
Maggie smiles, and I can’t help smiling, too.
“Well, we have some choices,” Dr. Mac says. “We could wait and see if the butterfly bandages hold and your striped bunny pajamas keep her from chewing on her stitches. I could use a little skin adhesive to help the process along. And I could take a couple more stitches. I think the best approach is a combination of these treatments so she can rest up at home again where she’ll be most comfortable.”
“Will it hurt for her to have stitches again?” I ask. “Will you have to put her under a general anesthetic?”
“No, the good news is, in her first surgery I made several layers of stitches and the inside stitches are holding just fine,” Dr. Mac says. “I’ll just take a couple of quick stitches in this outside layer. I think the main things will be keeping her great new pj’s on for a few days and monitoring her temperature while watching her closely to be sure she doesn’t chew at the incision site. And making sure that she begins to eat normally. We could assist her with eating if she doesn’t start soon.”
“How do we do that?” I ask.
“We could feed her with a syringe. There is a special formula for herbivores. We could also give her a little bit of pain medication to make her more comfortable, and an antibiotic to make sure there is no infection. But first I think we should add a few more stitches and a little adhesive.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Cuddles looks pretty relaxed right now,” Dr. Mac tells me. “Do you want to stay and hold her while I add the stitches and glue?”
“Yes.”
I stay, and Maggie assists, handing Dr. Mac the supplies she needs.
While it’s hard to look at the sharp needle as Dr. Mac gets ready to take out the first stitch, it’s interesting, too. And Dr. Mac is right. She ties off the two stitches and adds some skin adhesive in no time.
Cuddles stays calm and never even flinches.
“That should do it,” Dr. Mac says, rolling Cuddles’s striped bellyband “pajamas” back over the incision. “The inner stitches will dissolve on their own. Come back in two days for me to remove the external sutures. Watch for any signs of infection, swelling, or discharge, but I think Cuddles will be perfectly fine this time around, especially if she keeps her pj’s on. Cuddles should have her appetite back in no time. But, Maggie, can you get Jules a bottle of formula and a syringe just in case?”
“Thank you, Dr. Mac,” I say. “And thank you, too, Maggie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“I’m glad I was here to help,” Maggie says.
“Speaking of helping,” I say, “were you able to help the fox cub, Dr. Mac?”
“Yes, thank goodness. I was worried there for a bit.”
Then she tells us all about how Sunita and Brenna found a little fox with its head stuck in a rusty car part next to the stream.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“First off, that little cub was so scared and feisty that I wore my protective Kevlar gloves and gave him a mild sedative. I muzzled him as an extra precaution. When he was sleepy and relaxed, I rubbed some olive oil from the salad at the barbecue around his neck and greased up both sides of the metal disc he was stuck in. With the little guy so relaxed, I was able to carefully slide his head back out.”
“So then you let the fox go after that?” I ask.
“No,” Dr. Mac says. “I checked him for injuries, and luckily he seemed fine. We notified the state wildlife authority, and Brenna’s parents thought it’d be best to observe him in quarantine, at their wildlife rehabilitation center, and vaccinate him against rabies before they release him in the same area they found him. They want to be sure he is fully alert, eating, and feeling okay.”
“I’ve never seen a fox cub,” I say.
“He’ll be featured in Brenna’s new Save Our Streams blog and the local paper,” Dr. Mac says. “She took photos, and she’s writing an article about how polluting our streams with trash harms local wildlife. I’ll be driving out there tomorrow morning to give the cub a quick check. If you and Maggie would like to come with me, you’re welcome to tag along.”
I look at Maggie to be sure it’s okay with her.
“Sounds good,” Maggie says. “Can you come, Jules?”
“Yes,” I say. “Thanks! I’d love to see all the animals there.”
“Great,” says Dr. Mac. “It looks like we have another veterinarian in the making. Have you ever thought of being a Vet Volunteer, Jules?”
“Me?” I ask. I look at the floor, then I look at Cuddles, and I wish I could instantly transport Cuddles and myself straight home. I can’t help remembering when Maggie told me to stay away from her and the clinic. “Well, I love animals, but you probably have enough Vet Volunteers already.”
I wait for some sign from Maggie to see how she’d feel about my becoming a Vet Volunteer. Part of me is sure that Maggie will tell her grandmother they have plenty of volunteers and don’t need anyone else, especially me.
Another part, a stronger part, is focusing on positive thinking. Please, please, please. Yes, yes, yes, I’d love to be a Vet Volunteer!
My ears start to ring in the silent room. I finally look up to see Dr. Mac giving Maggie a puzzled look.
“Actually, we do need another Vet Volunteer, maybe two,” Maggie says. “And, Gran, you should see how good Jules is with the kittens. Come on, Jules, you should be a Vet Volunteer. We could use your animal communication skills. And if you need any tutoring on people communication, I’ll help you out. It’s challenging but fun.”
I can’t believe it. I’m going to get to work with animals again, and it looks like Maggie and I will be friends after all!
“Thanks!” I say. “I would love to be a Vet Volunteer. When do I start?”
“Right now,” Maggie says. “I need help cleaning up, and that little calico is mewing again already.”
Maggie’s right. They are mewing with hunger all over again. Dr. Mac peeks into the box of kittens. “I think we need to increase their amount of kitty formula,” Dr. Mac says. “I’ll leave you girls to it.” She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re joining us, Jules.”
“Me too,” says Maggie.
I feel like doing one of Cuddles’s joyous bunny leap dances and shouting, Me too, me too, me too! But I smile and tell Maggie “Thanks” instead. Then I join her in cleaning up. And after that we get to feed the kittens again.
Cuddles is so relaxed and happy now in her cage. She doesn’t seem to mind the mewing. I’m so glad she’s feeling better and has stopped biting at her stitches. Cuddles scratches one floppy ear with her hind leg then looks around, suddenly curious, as if she’s surprised at her surroundings and is wondering how she got here.
And again, I think, Me too.
• • • • •
At dinner that night, I keep Cuddles in her cage on the floor near the table so I can keep an eye on her. I don’t need to use the herbivore formula because she’s been munching away all afternoon, and pooping, too. I’ve never been so happy to see a used litter box!
I fill everyone in on the excitement at the clinic, and they tell me all about Stream Cleanup Day, about the fox, and the mud, and the zillions of bags of trash they picked up. I’m sorry I missed it, but I’m glad I was home to take care of Cuddles and to finally make up with Maggie.
“Brenna says she’s planning another stream cleanup in the summer,” Josh says. “So you can come to the next one. And it’s cool that they invited you to be a Vet Volunteer, Jules. I’m going to ask Dr. Mac if I can be one, too.”
Sophie listens to everyone else talk, then she pipes in. “Jules, your cat was there, too.”
“What cat?” Mom asks.
“Jules’s back-door cat,” Sophie says. “The striped one.”
“Jules, did you take in a cat, too?” Mom asks. “We haven’t even agreed to the rabbit yet.”
“No, there was a cat hanging out by the back door for a while. I was worried about him. I haven’t seen him in several days. But he’s not my cat. He’s a stray.”
“He was there at the stream cleanup,” Sophie says. “I saw him near the trees at the barbecue.”
“Oh, I hope he’s okay. Are you sure it was the same cat?” I ask.
Sophie nods.
“Did you see, Josh?” I ask. “Mom, Dad?” But they all just shake their heads.
“He was okay,” Sophie says. “Someone gave him a hot dog.”
I don’t know if it was the same cat or not, but for now, I’ll hope it was, and that he’s doing okay. I hope he finds a safe home soon. Maybe I’ll convince Josh or some of the Vet Volunteers to take a hike along the stream after school this week to see if he is still there.
Mom and Dad say they liked meeting lots of townspeople and especially liked meeting Sunita and Brenna.
Josh says, “Maggie is nice, too.” He gives me a funny look. “Right, Jules?”
“Yes,” I say. Josh is up to something. Best to agree. Besides, now I really do believe that Maggie is nice.
“So I was thinking, Dad, what if Jules and I help you finish cleaning up the basement? Then we could create a space to hang out with our new friends down there.”
“And I could design and build a bigger space for Cuddles to hop around and get exercise,” I say. “A small corral with a bunny habitat inside.”
Mom smiles, and Dad agrees.
Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “While we’re all being so helpful and agreeable,” she says, “I think we can agree to make Cuddles a permanent part of our family—so long as everybody is careful about her cage door.” She looks at Sophie.
“Yay!” Sophie says. “I promise I won
’t forget to latch it.”
“You’ve done a good job with Cuddles, Jules. I’m proud of you,” Mom says. “And you seem to know a lot more about rabbits than the rest of us. So now that Cuddles is part of our family, you have to tell me everything important about our new pet, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. Cuddles stretches her legs out one by one in her cage. Then she discovers a corner of her cardboard floor sticking up. So of course she chews on it.
“You promise?” Mom asks.
I look at Josh and Sophie, then at Mom.
“I promise,” I say.
“Great,” Mom says, glancing at Cuddles, who is chewing and digging at the cardboard.
“I guess I should tell you now, then,” I say.
“Tell me what?”
“That Cuddles’s original name was Chewie, because all rabbits, and especially our rabbit, like to chew on things,” I say.
“Oh,” Mom says. “Okay. Good to know. Anything else I should know?”
“Rabbits are very social creatures,” I say. “So Cuddles might be happier in the long run if she had another rabbit to snuggle and play with.”
“Two rabbits?” Mom asks. “Are you suggesting we get another bunny?”
“Yes,” I say, and hold my breath. Think positive, think positive, I tell myself.
Josh says, “Cuddles might chew on less stuff if she had a companion rabbit.”
Sophie nods her head enthusiastically and whispers, “Lolli, Lolli, Lolli.”
“And rabbit droppings make good compost?” Mom asks me with a wink.
“Yes,” I say. I jump up and give Mom a hug.
Mom hugs me back. “I do like good compost on my roses,” she says with a grin.
Dad smiles. “Vibrant, healthy-looking roses will surely attract more customers to Wrenches and Roses,” he says.
“Mr. Hart says Jules is a bunny whisperer,” Josh says.
“A bunny whisperer?” Mom laughs. “Who could say no to a bunny whisperer?”