Page 42 of S.O.S. Billboard

By the time Billboard reached O’Shea again, she’d found a blue, soft-sided container with a lot of open-lattice windows,zippers, and pockets that she deemed worthy, and plunked it on the top of the pile.

“All set?” Billboard asked.

“Yup,” she said gleefully. “Zoe is going to be so excited.”

“Afterher vet appointment,” Billboard reminded O’Shea. “She’s not going to be happy with you until that bit of business is over.”

“Youcouldbe right,” O’Shea answered optimistically, “butIthink she’s going to be a trooper.”

Twenty minutes later, after arguing over the store’s bill—they’d eventually split it—they’d driven home, and Billboard was marveling that O’Shea had picked the right carrier.

Zoe had welcomed them home with headbutts and a strong odor of just having used her box. Billboard hoped the latter was a problem that could be solved, but that caveat aside, Zoe, indeed, went easily into her new transportation without any fussing. She settled into it with loud purrs, nestling on the soft blanket O’Shea had added.

“I think she likes it,” O’Shea pointed out unnecessarily as she zipped the enclosure up.

Billboard held out, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Uh, let’s see how she does at the vet.” He started to pick up the container, but… “Wait.” He just remembered something. “Tuck said the vet wants a stool sample.”

Holding their noses after Billboard procured a plastic bag, they managed to pack up some poop without gagging too much.

When they arrived at the address Tuck had given him, Billboard was happy to see that the place wasn’t one of the big-box vets that had become so prevalent these days. Doctor Shellie, as Tuck called her, worked out of a small barn-like building that sat behind her neat, cape-cod style house.

The doctor herself met them at the door.

“Hi, I’m Shellie. It’s nice to meet you. Tucker said you picked up a stray last night?”

O’Shea introduced herself, then Billboard before answering. “I found her in an alley, and…she’s a little rough.”

“Let me have a look.” She took the carrier from Billboard and set it on a stainless-steel table, opening one end to let the cat out. “Come on sweetie. I’m going to check you over.”

Zoe poked her head out curiously, then rubbed on the vet’s gloved hand.

“Oh. This one is a lover,” Doc Shellie grinned. She immediately and gently pulled her out all the way, and placed her stethoscope on the cat’s ribs. She moved it and listened, moved it and listened…

“Everything sounds good, so far.” She checked Zoe’s teeth. “I’d say by the look of her chompers that she’s pretty young. Maybe two or three years old.”

The doc then looked into Zoe’s face with her pen-light and frowned. “Her eyes and nose are a little runny. You brought a stool sample?”

“Yup.” O’Shea dug in an outside pocket of the carrier and came up with it. “Her poop smells,” O’Shea told her, holding out the bag they’d filled. “As soon as she uses her box, I run to clean it out. I didn’t know a little hiney could produce something that stinks so badly.”

“Hmm. That sounds suspicious,” the doctor returned. “It’s not unusual for a stray to pick up a parasitic infection. I’ll check the sample for several different pathogens.” She took the bag, depositing it on a shelf, then deftly stuck a thermometer up an uncomplaining Zoe’s ass. She smiled again when she pulled it out. “Temp is perfect.”

She patted the cat enthusiastically, stood back and took a long, assessing look. “She definitely needs some grooming, andyou’re lucky. Since she’s got a sweet disposition, she won’t have to be sedated, which is good.”

Billboard knew all aboutthatshit-show, from Pumpkin and Squash.

“But have you considered that her curly hair is natural, and not an anomaly from being outside and ungroomed?”

“What do you mean?” O’Shea asked.

“Well, it’s just my opinion, but I think she’s a Selkirk Rex. It’s a breed that originated in Montana, and your baby, if I’m not mistaken is a medium-haired version. Which leads me to add that Selkirks are expensive and pretty rare. Which means someone could be missing her. I think we should see if she’s chipped.”

Billboard saw O’Shea’s face fall.

“You think she…escaped from somebody’s house and they’ll want her back?” O’Shea moaned.

O’Shea had clearly already fallen in love with Zoe, and the thought of having the affectionate cat taken away was making her bottom lip tremble. Billboard stepped in, and spoke softly.

“It’s the right thing to do, O’Shea. She’s clearly a very friendly, lovable cat, and her owners are probably missing her terribly.”

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