THE CAT'S MAW

CHAPTER VII (Part 2)

Mr. Jessome’s ‘office’ turned out to be little more than a room in the back of his barn. It was in the far corner, behind stacks of firewood and next to a big, lumpy something covered in a dusty black tarp.

The area was walled off on three sides and lined with red metal cabinets. There were posters and pictures pinned on the walls showing the anatomies of different animals, photos of people with their livestock and pets, and newspaper clippings of blue-ribbon winners from the county fair.

“It’s that season again,” Jessome said, pointing to one of the pictures of a prize hog. “Busy time of year, what with everyone trying to prove who’s best through their pets.”

A shiny metal table on black wheels sat in the centre of the room. The vet made muddy foot-and-cane prints on the cracked tiles as he walked over to it, set the box down, and waved the Brahms in.

“Okay, Billy,” he said, taking the cat out of the box. “Do you think you can help me out? Just lean against the table, and hold him in place.”

“Are you sure he–?” Mrs. Brahm fretted.

“I can do it,” Billy said. He propped his crutches against a cabinet, hopped over to the table, and steadied the cat on the cold metal. “See.”

“I knew you could,” the vet smiled. He rifled through a cabinet, and placed some implements on a plastic tray. “So, this is your first cat?”

“Yup,” said Billy.

“Yes, sir,” said his mother.

“Don’t sweat the formalities here, Mrs. Brahm. I’m no saint. Just a country boy with all kinds of shit on his shoes.”

Billy’s eyes bulged at the curse word. He turned to his parents, who seemed keen to pretend that it never happened.

“It’s our first pet,” his mother said. 

“Really?” Jessome said, shuffling through another drawer. “Most boys your age want a dog. Maybe even a snake.”

“There will certainly be no snakes in our house,” Elizabeth said. “And I find dogs tend to be loud, and too messy for our tastes, right dear?”

“We didn’t really plan on getting a pet,” Stanley said, scratching at the stubble on the side of his jaw. “It just kind of happened.”

Mr. Jessome brought the tray over to the table and placed it on the far end. The cat tensed its shoulders at the clanging sound, and considered leaping from the boy’s grasp. Billy stroked the back of its neck, and nuzzled its forehead with his nose.

“A famous man once said that life’s what happens while you’re busy making plans,” the vet said, grabbing a small flashlight from the tray. “And Billy was right out there. From my experience, you don’t makea cat your pet. You don’t make it do anything. As you say, Mr. Brahm, it just kinda happens.”

The vet gave the cat’s cheeks a scratch, and then folded its ears open like pea pods. He shone the light inside them, made a cluck-cluck sound, and nodded. Then he placed his hand over the cat’s face, gripped it by its upper jaw, and pulled its mouth open.

“No ear mites or buildup, you handsome devil,” he said to the cat, shining the light around its mouth. “Nice teeth and gums, too. If cats had toothpaste commercials, you’d be rolling in catnip.” He released its jaw and gave it a quick scratch under the chin.

Billy felt it squirm and tightened his grip around its belly and hind legs. It didn’t look angry or frightened, but no one would mistake this for a cat that was having a good time.