Page 43 of S.O.S. Billboard

“I know. It’s just…” O’Shea gave a wry laugh. “I thought it was kind of a sign, you know? I find a cat in Boston, and it’s meant to be that she and I find a home here, together.”

“I’ll get you a cat if Zoe belongs to someone,” Billboard said gruffly, “but don’t lose hope, yet. She might not be chipped.”

The vet was already coming over with a small device, which she expertly pointed at the cat’s neck. Billboard held his breath, and when nothing happened—no beeps, no numbers appearing on the screen—his hands unclenched just a bit.

“Does that mean she’s—?”

“Not yet,” the doctor warned. “I haven’t finished. I’m going to pinch the skin together a little…” Shellie gave them an apologetic look as her device beeped. “And there it is.”

Billboard watched O’Shea swallow.

The cat, at least, was having a lot of fun, thinking she was getting rubbed, and she squirmed happily.

“I’m sorry,” the vet added, giving Zoe one last pat as she clearly reading the room. “I’ll just go check the national database for this.”

Shellie went into the other room, and Billboard studied O’Shea.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

O’Shea looked a little weepy, but no tears were falling, and she straightened her shoulders while patting Zoe. “Yes. Because you’re right. Someone, somewhere, loves her, and they have a lot more claim than me since she’s two or three years old. I know if she was mine, I’d want her back.”

Billboard went to O’Shea and put his arms around her. She instantly leaned into him and sighed. “I’ll be okay. You said it. I can always find a new cat in need.”

Billboard knew at that moment he would move heaven and earth to find O’Shea another Selkirk Rex.

When the vet came back, she was holding a piece of paper. On it were two phone numbers. “You want me to call, or will you?” she asked.

O’Shea looked resigned. “You call, please,” she answered.

Doctor Shellie picked up her phone and dialed.

A puzzled look came over her face. “Huh. The first number has been discontinued. Let me try the other.” She dialed again, and within seconds, her call was picked up.

“Hello. This is Doctor Shellie Bandear, a veterinarian in Boston. We’ve just had a cat brought in. A gray, Selkirk Rex who is chipped with your number.” She listened for about a minutebefore responding. “I see,” she nodded. “Wait. Can I put you on speaker? The people who rescued your cat are here and I think they’ll want to hear this.”

She obviously got approval because she hit the button and a lady began talking. “Hi. I’m so glad you found Zoya. Thank you for taking her in.”

Billboard was floored that O’Shea had given the cat a name so close to her original one.

“No problem. She’s a sweetheart,” O’Shea managed, her hand never leaving Zoe, uh, Zoya’s belly. The cat was currently snoozing on the table.

“She is. She belonged to my grandmother, who passed away two months ago.” She named a town that was easily fifteen miles north of the city. “When we went to the house and found Gram, Zoya was right with her. She didn’t want to leave, but in the confusion of the police and the coroner coming, Zoya ran and hid. We eventually found her under a bed, and carried her to our car. Then… I’m not quite sure how it happened because Zoya has always been a calm cat, but she struggled in my arms and got away. We looked for her for hours, but she had completely disappeared.”

“Well, there’s good news. She’s in surprisingly decent shape, despite her being gone for months,” O’Shea told the woman chokingly. “I guess once she’s given a complete exam and clean bill of health, we can meet you and turn her over.”

“Umm…” There was hesitation on the other end.

“Is there a problem?” Billboard asked.

“Yeah. We…” The woman sucked in a breath. “I know this sounds mean, but we were going to find her a new home. My husband and I just had a baby, and we live in an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. So…”

“Yes,” O’Shea instantly cried out, cutting off the question that hadn’t yet been asked. “Of course I’ll take her.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On the way back to Billboard’s house, O’Shea pondered everything she’d learned about Zoe. The previous owner’s granddaughter had told them that the cat was approximately three years old, but had no exact birth date. Apparently as a kitten, Zoe had just walked in through her grandmother’s front door one day, and settled onto the couch like she belonged.

The grandmother had never imagined having a cat before, but she immediately fell in love with Zoe, and hadn’t begun to contemplate rehoming her. She’d sworn that Zoe had found her purposely, and that the two of them were meant to be.

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