Chapter 11 #2
He lets out a meow—more of a pained, scratchy meow than I’ve ever heard him make.
He usually bolts under the bed when I need to take him to the vet, so I have to act fast. I grab a throw blanket off the nearest chair and dive straight into the small pile of rubble, throwing the fabric over him. He meows and squirms under the fabric.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I say, wrangling him and holding him as snugly to my chest as I can without hurting him. Is this even the right thing to do? “We need to take him to Waylon. He sounds so off. But the hole in the ceiling and what if the whole ceiling collapses and—”
“Where’s his carrier?” Ash asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. Its weight steadies me.
I tell him and he quickly goes to grab it. He must be familiar with the type of carrier because he turns it on its end so I can tuck Pip in without him trying to back out on me. He closes the door and gently sets it down, Pip letting out that strange meow in protest.
“Sit with him,” Ash says.
His tone is serious and authoritative, so I do as he asks. I get on the floor and look inside the crate. Should we have stuffed him in there with the throw blanket? He would have run if we didn’t, though. But what if he has a broken bone? Shit.
His eye looks a bit red, maybe from the dust. And he looks so dirty.
I get a grip when he meows at me again and text Waylon. Thankfully he can get us in early.
“The ceiling looks like it’ll be fine—it was a weak spot from some water damage, as far as I can tell. The couch is fucked, though. Who’s your landlord?” Ash asks. He squats down next to me, his hand on my leg. Having him on my level is just as steadying as his hand is.
“My dad, technically. Long story.” I swallow, running my sweaty hands down my leggings. “Waylon says he can see Pip before the clinic opens if I take him now.”
“Yeah, you’re not driving,” he says. “I’m taking you. Text your dad on our drive over.”
“Wait! Your stuff!” I gesture to his bags, which are pushed into the corner. His stuff, like a glass of water, book, and phone charger on the side table, is a dead giveaway that we aren’t sleeping in the same bed. “Shove it in the bedroom. My dad will be here.”
He immediately understands and flies into action. In a matter of moments, he’s put his stuff into my bedroom. We leave the pull out couch opened, though. We’ll have to think of an excuse for that later.
Ash extends his hand to me, helping me up. I don’t even protest. I’m not the most focused driver on the best of days, so hearing Pip’s awful-sounding meow while worrying my whole apartment is going to collapse will probably run me off the road.
He guides me to his Jeep, opening the door for me and keeping me from falling on my ass as I climb inside. I put Pip between my feet.
“He’s squirming around, so maybe he’s not that hurt,” I say.
“Waylon will get him sorted,” he says, his tone even and calm.
“But why does he sound so weird? He barely meows. Now he sounds like he’s been chain-smoking. Can cats—”
“Jada,” he says when we stop at a sign. “Take a breath.”
He’s blunt but sincere—he’s not telling me to take a breath to shut me up (though that’ll probably do the trick). He genuinely wants me to calm down. I do as he says and sink into my seat. I text my dad, too, and he says he’s heading over.
Jepsen isn’t that big, so we make it to the clinic in minutes. Waylon is already there at the door, his eyes flicking to Ash, then me, then Pip.
“Thank you for this,” I say.
“It’s no problem.” He holds open the door and frowns when Pip meows.
We go into an exam room, and I put the carrier on the table. Waylon murmurs soothing words to Pip as he takes the top off the carrier. He stays in a crouched position, ears pointed back but not pinned.
Pip looks rough, covered in dust.
“So what happened?” Waylon asks, lightly running his hands along Pip’s back.
“Some ceiling crashed down on top of him.” I swallow and watch as he carefully lifts Pip. Ash takes the carrier and puts it on the floor. “He just sat there and his meow sounded weird, so I wanted to get him checked.”
“He does sound weird but I’m not sure why that would be a result of this.” He frowns and checks Pip’s teeth. His frown only deepens. “Did you know he lost a tooth?”
“From this?”
“It doesn’t look that inflamed, so probably not.” He turns Pip, narrowly missing a swipe from his paw, then pauses. “Jada, this isn’t Pip.”
“What do you mean? He was in my apartment.”
Waylon manages to pick up Pip without him scratching his face off.
“I’m one hundred percent sure I neutered Pip and generally these don’t grow back.” He turns the cat and pushes the fur around his butt back, revealing two little white balls standing out among his black fur.
All three of us stare at each other, then at the cat’s very prominent balls. My phone’s ring pings through the silence—it’s my dad.
Dad: ??? Pip is still here
He sends a picture of Pip curled up in a loaf on the floor near the wreckage. He couldn’t look more calm if he tried. I blink, then show Ash and Waylon that Pip is okay.
“Oh my god.” I press my hand to the back of my neck. “Then whose cat is this? Where did he come from? He looks exactly like him.”