Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILA
It’s been a few days since she took the cat in for surgery. In that time, she turned countless names over in her mind until one stuck: Miso. She isn’t entirely sure why, only that it felt right. She wanted something different—nothing like the usual black cat names like Midnight or Loki.
When Camila receives the call that Miso is ready for pickup, she all but flies out of her house and into her car.
An hour later, she’s back at the emergency clinic.
The few moments alone in the exam room are agony.
Camila clasps her hands in her lap, fingers worrying at an invisible thread.
The moment the doors swing open, and she sees Miso, something in her chest loosens, then knots again when she notices Miso’s shaved belly and the tight pink line of stitches—the entire left hind leg is gone.
Still, Miso looks worlds better than before, a little thicker and her eyes brighter, though they’re half-mooned with sleep. Miso lifts her head from the blanket, and the moment her eyes land on Camila, she lets out a small, gravelly meow.
“Hello to you, too,” Camila says with her heart in her throat.
As soon as the vet sets Miso down, she pads straight to Camila and climbs into her arms. Her purr starts immediately, deep and steady, rumbling through her ribs, and all her muscles relax.
She presses her face into Miso’s fur without thinking.
She doesn’t know how it happened, but somewhere between the first frightened glance and now, this small creature carved out a space for herself in Camila’s heart, as if it had always been there, waiting to be claimed.
“She’s ready to go home,” the vet says, sliding a packet of paperwork across the counter.
“The stitches will need to come out in about ten days. Any local clinic can do that. Since she was a stray, she got a fresh round of vaccines. The only two things still outstanding, since we don’t test for them here, are FIV and FeLV, so make sure the vet you take her to runs those tests. ”
“I’m sorry.” Camila frowns slightly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Those are tests for feline immunodeficiency virus and feline leukemia,” the vet explains gently. “They’re both pretty common in strays, so it’s just to be safe.”
Camila nods, pressing her face into Miso’s soft fur. “We’ll take care of it. Right, Miso?”
Miso meows, almost like she’s agreeing, and Camila smiles.
“Thank you,” Camila says, the words catching slightly as she gathers the paperwork and tucks it under her arm.
“Of course. Did you bring a carrier for her, or will you be needing one?
A carrier, right. She’d gotten one but somehow left it behind in her excitement to pick Miso up.
“I’ll need a temporary one. I have one, but I forgot it.”
The vet smiles and reaches into one of the drawers for a cardboard box, folds it into shape, and gently places Miso inside.
Camila mutters another quick “thanks” before turning toward the door.
The drive out of Lynnwood stretches longer than it should. Traffic crawls, then clears, then crawls again, and that only seems to agitate Miso, who’s yowling, loud and indignant.
At every red light, Camila leans over, slipping a finger through the air holes of the cardboard carrier. “I know,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry. Almost there.” The promises stack up, whispered between stops and starts.
Somewhere past the halfway point, the cries fade, and that’s almost worse. At every stop sign on the way home, Camila opens the box to check on Miso, who stares back at her—sulking at the bottom of the carrier, glaring.
Camila had read somewhere that cats should be kept in a small space for the first few days in a new place, such as a bathroom or a closet, so she went out and bought everything she could think of to turn the walk-in closet in her home office into a cat haven.
Food, toys, a scratcher, a cat tree, even a ridiculously fluffy bed shaped like a bowl of ramen that cost more than her own sheets. However, Miso wants none of it.
She steps into the closet, takes one look around, and looks back at Camila with an almost offended expression. Camila crouches nearby, rattling a toy that goes completely ignored. Miso sniffs the fluffy bed, but turns away, choosing to settle herself on Camila’s crossed legs instead.
Every time Camila tries to leave, Miso lets out a loud, broken meow that splinters something deep in Camila’s chest, and she sits back down immediately, as if pulled by an invisible string.
Time loses its shape. It stretches, collapses, starts again. Miso’s gaze never leaves Camila, eyes half-lidded but sharp, tracking every shift of weight, every twitch that might signal she’s leaving.
Eventually, the quiet breaks with the low growl of Camila’s stomach. She exhales, glances at the door. She needs food. She’ll be two minutes, max.
“I’ll be right back,” she says as she sets Miso down on the cat bed. The promise apparently means nothing to Miso, who bolts out of the room, moving far faster than Camila thought possible for a three-legged cat fresh out of surgery.
For the rest of the night, Miso trails her through the house as she cooks and organizes.
A quick search online suggests Miso might have separation anxiety.
Camila understands that feeling well, so she lets Miso roam.
The cat pads from room to room, sniffing corners, hopping onto chairs, brushing against Camila’s legs, rubbing against, well, everything.
By the time Camila sits down for the evening, deciding she’s done enough organizing for the day, Miso curls up nearby.
On night one, Miso claims the entire bed, and most mornings Camila wakes to find Miso curled up on her chest.
Over the next few days, they fall into an easy rhythm.
Miso refuses the closet outright, so Camila lets her roam when she’s home and mutters endless apologies on the mornings she has to leave for work, locking her in despite herself.
There’s nothing Camila wants more than to take Miso to work with her, but the idea of a stray cat hair landing on a hundred-year-old painting seems like an excellent way to get herself fired.
The ten days after surgery pass quickly, blurred together by unpacking, organizing, work, and daily inspections of the incision. Camila nearly forgets to schedule the stitch removal until a reminder slides into her inbox.
Thankfully, the clinic she first took Miso to offers same-day visits.
Camila books the appointment immediately.
After work, she loads Miso into her carrier and heads back out, bracing herself for the familiar chorus of complaints.
The car ride is a full concert of protest, Miso meowing the entire way, until the complaints taper off into a grumble.
Camila slips her fingers through an opening in her carrier and offers Miso her hand, and Miso presses her face against it.
Camila’s looking forward to this visit, nerves and all.
She wants to thank the vet who helped them.
The woman didn’t have to stay late that night, but did.
Camila feels so shitty for not having properly expressed how much that meant.
She isn’t sure what she would have done if the vet hadn’t been there.
At the clinic, she checks in, waits, and hopes they call for them soon because Miso is furious. The pets are no longer soothing her, and she yowls, claws scraping against the mesh in her carrier, trying to dig her way out.
“Shhh,” she whispers, brushing her fingers along the carrier. “Just a little longer, sweet girl.”
Miso responds with another indignant cry.
“Miso?” a vet tech calls from the doorway.
Camila sighs and stands quickly. “That’s us.”
“Follow me, please.”
Inside the exam room, she takes a seat. The woman reaches for the carrier, and Camila hands it over. “We’ll be right back,” she says, smiling gently.
“Oh,” Camila blurts, unable to hide her disappointment. “The vet isn’t coming in?”
“She’ll be in after she takes a look at Miso’s stitches,” the woman says.
“Perfect,” Camila replies, and her heart does a little flip she doesn’t entirely understand.
She had booked specifically with the vet who helped them that first night. Valeria Oroz, D.V.M. It wasn’t hard to find her. Camila went to the clinic’s website, and there she was, neatly catalogued under “staff,” smiling widely.
After a few minutes, the back door swings open, Valeria steps inside, and the atmosphere subtly shifts.
The website photo doesn’t do her justice.
In it, Valeria wears a cute, dirty-blond pixie cut.
It must be an old picture because her hair is longer now, blond falling to her shoulders in soft, unbothered waves, thick sideswept bangs framing her face.
Her eyes are so dark you almost feel yourself tipping forward when you meet them, even across a room.
Camila registers all of this in the strange, hyper-detailed way her brain sometimes does. When it decides something is important and insists on preserving it.
She definitely noticed Valeria’s beauty the first time she saw her, but at the time, her focus had been a little more consumed by Miso’s pain. Seeing her now, fully present, she realizes the photo never came close. Valeria is stunning in a way that feels grounding rather than intimidating.
“Hi there,” Valeria says softly, sitting at the stool across from Camila. “Miso looks great,” she continues. “Her stitches aren’t quite ready to come out yet. I’d like to see her again in a few days.”
Camila nods. Not minding one bit that she’ll have to make the forty-five-minute drive to this clinic again in a few days.
“Her FIV and FeLV tests came back negative,” Valeria says. “So we can proceed with the FeLV vaccine today. It’s about fifty dollars and will protect her from feline leukemia, which can cause cancer and other serious issues.”
“That’s fine,” Camila says. “I’d rather she have it.”
“Wonderful, I will give her the shot now, and I’ll have Brenda at the front desk set up a follow-up when you check out.” Valeria pats her legs and stands.
“Wait,” Camila says, and Valeria sits back down slowly.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, and there’s so much tenderness in her voice that Camila almost melts. There is an unmistakable warmth about her, something that settles easily, without asking permission.
Camila smiles. “Yeah, everything is fine. I just wanted to say thank you.”
Valeria’s eyes soften, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“No, I do. I didn’t catch it at the time, but when I was in the waiting room at the emergency clinic, I realized you were on your way out, but you stayed to help us.
Thank you, and thank you for calling the clinic to let them know we were coming.
You were probably exhausted by the time we barreled in, and I want to make sure I at least acknowledge it and express my gratitude. ”
A gentle blush colors Valeria’s cheeks, and she looks down for a moment, then back at Camila with an almost shy smile. It’s subtle, but Camila can tell she’s touched, and that makes her chest a little warmer.
A knock at the back door breaks the moment, and a vet tech steps inside. She leans close, whispering something in Valeria’s ear. Valeria straightens.
“Sounds like Miso’s getting a little restless,” she says with a smile. “I’ll go administer her shot and bring her back out to you.”
Camila snorts and gently shakes her head. “She’s a menace.”
Valeria laughs. “She knows what she wants. So I’ll go get her ready to return home.”
Camila nods and sits back in her chair, watching Valeria walk toward the back room where she can hear Miso meowing insistently.
A few minutes later, Valeria walks through the door holding Miso’s carrier, and she sets her down gently on the exam table.
“This little lady is ready to go home,” Valeria says, chuckling as Miso lets out a perfectly timed, indignant meow.
Camila reaches out and opens her carrier slightly to scratch Miso behind the ears, and she immediately starts purring, kneading in her carrier. Valeria leans against the counter, watching them with a soft smile.
“She’s lucky to have you,” she says.
Camila smiles sheepishly. “Yeah . . . I think we’ll be good for each other. I just moved here, so it’s nice not having the house all to myself.”
“Oh, where did you move from?” Valeria tilts her head.
“Chicago.”
“Ah, I love Chicago. My girlfriend and I go at least once a year. It’s my absolute favorite city.”
Camila’s chest swells when she learns Valeria is queer, only to feel a slight sting of disappointment when she realizes she has a girlfriend. It isn’t exactly surprising. Valeria is sweet, beautiful, the kind of person who probably draws people in without trying.
Camila has only seen her twice, and she feels a pull toward her, which, in truth, makes her feel a little ridiculous, but it’s there all the same. It’s weird—she’s never felt that before. It’s likely just gratitude for everything she’s done for Miso.
“Yeah, I miss it already.”
“Well, I hope you get to go back soon, and welcome to Washington.”
“I actually grew up here,” Camila says, the words tumbling out before she thinks about them. Almost immediately, she cringes to herself, wondering why she offered that up.
Valeria smiles, small and warm. “Oh, welcome home. Are you happy to be back?”
“Yeah,” Camila says automatically, but it tastes wrong. Happy is the last word she’d use. Still, she’s not about to tell this stranger that. No matter how familiar she feels. Like a friend Camila somehow forgot she had?
“Good, I’m glad. Do you have any other questions or concerns about Miso?”
Camila shakes her head, pushing the thought of her mother out of the way.
“No, thank you,” she says, but there’s the faintest wish for another line, another something, to keep the conversation with Valeria going.
Valeria nods. “I’ll see you both in a few days.” She bends down to peek into Miso’s carrier. “Bye, Miso, I’ll see you soon.”
Miso meows, and they both laugh.
“Thanks again,” Camila says, and Valeria winks before disappearing into the back room.
Camila’s heart flutters at the gesture, and she can’t stop the grin that spreads across her face.
When she steps out of the exam room, Camila schedules Miso’s follow-up for a few days from now and drives the hour back home. Throughout the ride, her thoughts drift back to Valeria.
There’s an easy pull to talk to her, be her friend, and get to know her better. It would be nice if she could make a friend in a new city. It might make her feel less alone.