Hotline Fling

17: Be Gentle

Juneau's POV

"Hey, handsome man," a friendly female voice cooed.

Gus' body tensed in my arms, a yowl pierced my eardrum, and multiple sharp stings laced into my right shoulder. All signs indicated that my pissed-off cat had latched on. "Now, Gus," I chided when a hiss erupted, followed by flat ears and a yowl. "She'll be gentle with you."

Gus' only response to Dr. Adelson, who always ended up being his best friend by the time our appointments finished, was how he sank his claws in deeper.

"I know what will help." Dr. Adelson reached into her white coat pocket and pulled out a small, triangular treat. "Here, tough guy."

After one disinterested whiff, Gus snapped at it, then sprung off me like I was old business. One more treat, and he rubbed his head all over her extended fingers and rumbled away. Traitor. "Such a tease," she cooed again, this time with a sparkle in her dark brown eyes. "Let's look you over."

Dr. Adelson snapped a pair of gloves onto her tan-skinned hands. After a check of his teeth and ears, she inspected his missing eye. "What's he in for today?"

"He's, throwing up again." I hugged my stomach with my Gus hair-covered arms. "And his bowel movements are, umm..." How could I explain this?

While working at home today, Gus had not only thrown up in a few spots, which was impossible to keep hidden in my boxy apartment, but it also looked like he'd thrown poop at his litter box. We took the first available appointment. I cleaned up the messes, scooped him up, and carried him here.

More than a few strange looks were tossed at me carrying Gus four blocks. I worked up a sweat, but he fought me tooth and nail –well, his broken teeth and needle-sharp claws– with the carrier and worked himself up so much that he puked on the spot. He relaxed slightly in my arms, so I carried him like a newborn, praying he wouldn't puke down my back.

"All over the place?" she finished with a tight smile and sympathy filling her eyes. "It could be his diabetes. We'll run some blood work and take a stool sample after I get his anal glands. He might need two insulin shots a day instead of one."

My wallet sank at that news, but my heart compressed for Gus. While Dr. Adelson ran her gloved hands gently over Gus, a frown creased the space between her eyebrows, the same dark brown as her high ponytail. What now? I studied her frown to the point where I counted her freckles.

She ran her hands over Gus and sighed. "I think he's got arthritis." Her frown further tensed when he flinched from her thumbs' rubbing his hips. "Poor guy's in some pain."

"Oh, Gus." Tears pricked my eyes while I rubbed my palm over the velvety soft, gray fur between his ears. His chest rumbled at the contact, releasing those endearingly broken and uneven purrs, and he relaxed his eye closed.

"I'll give you some pain reliever." Dr. Adelman's eyes met mine. "How does he get around?"

"It's a small place, not much to climb, but he's still active," I replied with my eyes on Gus like somehow he showed some sign, any sign, that he was in pain. He blinked. For each ounce of indifference, the knot in my chest tightened. I hadn't noticed his pain, despite being home more. Poor guy.

"That's best for arthritis. Just like in people, the more he moves, the less it will hurt." She jotted down some notes on the clipboard she'd put on the silver metal exam table. "I'm guessing on his age, but he's getting up there. At least thirteen."

"No." I shook my head before she said what I feared, grabbed Gus off the table, and hugged him into my chest. "I'm not going to do what's easiest. He deserves to have a good life."