Page 26 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

She nods hesitantly but extends her hands, placing them next to mine. Her fingers tremble.

“Don’t worry,” I add, trying to reassure her. “His jaw is dislocated from whatever he’s swallowed. He couldn’t bite you even if he wanted to.”

I let go of Rico and run to the cupboard for a sedative and a scalpel. From the bump under Rico’s skin, he must have tried to eat a tennis ball this time. The irregular protrusion is visible about two-thirds of the way down his body. With a sigh, I realize I must talk with Mark later about feeding his pet and ensuring his habitat is secure. I pull on a pair of latex gloves, and once I find everything I need, I return to the table.

The snake’s writhing, and Emily’s having a hard time not losing her grip on him. Despite her fear, she’s holding on. There’s something admirable about that, facing your fears head-on. As quickly as I can, I draw up the ketamine in the syringe and check the dosage twice before proceeding. I slide the needle into Rico’s body, finding the intramuscular site with practiced precision. He goes still almost immediately, his muscles relaxing under Emily’s grip. Good. The medication is taking effect.

“Now comes the tricky part,” I explain, partly for Mark’s benefit and partly to keep Emily distracted from her fear. “I need to make an incision to remove the obstruction without damaging any of Rico’s internal organs.”

I make a small, precise incision along the bulge, carefully avoiding the major blood vessels visible beneath the translucent scales. Slicing the snake’s throat open under Emily’s hands, I draw out the tennis ball with no problem and quickly close up the wound. The yellow felt of the ball is spotted with digestive fluids but otherwise intact.

“You can let go of him now,” I whisper to Emily when I realize she’s still got her fingers clenched around the boa. She nods and lets go but doesn’t step away from the table. Her wide eyes are fixed on the serpent, and tiny droplets of sweat pearl on her forehead.

“Is he going to be okay?” Mark asks.

“Sure he will, buddy.” I smile, completing the last small sutures. “But you need to be more careful about Rico’s eating habits. Tennis balls aren’t on the recommended diet for boas.” I keep my tone light and educational rather than accusatory.

“Yes, sir,” Mark whispers. I should lecture him about this, but I don’t want to. The poor kid’s upset. “Can I take him home?”

“Yes, but you’ll need to watch him. The incision will need time to heal,” I explain, applying an antibiotic ointment to the stitched area. I’m going to give him an antibiotic, and tomorrow, you need to bring him back for a follow-up. Can you do that, Mark?” I write out detailed care instructions on a sheet of paper, emphasizing the need for a clean, quiet environment and monitoring for signs of infection.

He nods, and finally, the corners of his mouth turn upward in the ghost of a smile. “Thanks, sir.” There’s genuine gratitude in his voice that makes this job worthwhile. For all the difficult clients, demanding paperwork, and long hours, moments like these are why I became a vet.

“Just doing my job, buddy.” We put Rico back into his crate, and I walk Mark to the door. The waiting room is quiet now, the afternoon lull before the evening rush. “See you tomorrow, kid!”

I close the door behind him and turn back to Emily. She’s still standing next to the exam table, her eyes fixed on her hands, which are bloody.

“Are you all right?” I ask, coming up to her.

“Uh-uh.” She looks like she’s on the edge of a hysterical breakdown if she’s not already in the middle of one. Her face is so pale, I’m afraid she may faint at any second.

“Emily,” I murmur, putting my hand on her back. Her spine is rigid under my touch, tension evident in every line of her body. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I move to the sink and wet a paper towel, bringing it back to her so she can clean the blood from her hands.

She turns to face me, fixing her enormous doe eyes on me. “That was a snake,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of the building’s ventilation system. “I was just holding an enormous snake in my hands!”

I try to control myself but can’t hold back my laughter. It bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, releasing the tension that’s been building all day.

“It’s not funny!” she shouts, her voice breaking.

I shake my head, trying to wipe the smile from my face. I struggle to compose myself, though it may be impossible. “No, you’re right. Forgive me.”

“You’re a jerk,” she mutters, scrubbing at her hands with the damp paper towel I provided as if trying to erase any trace of her contact with Rico.

“Truly, Emily.” I sigh, leaning against the counter of the exam room. “I didn’t think it would be a problem for you. Since you took a job at a veterinary clinic, I assumed you’d be comfortable with all kinds of animals.” It’s a reasonable assumption, though clearly I was wrong.

“You didn’t think it would be a problem? I just had a fucking serpent in my hands! What’s normal about that?” Her cheeks flush with color as she speaks.

“You’re working in a veterinary clinic. It’s normal to deal with animals,” I protest, still trying to hold back my laughter. “Besides, Rico is one of our gentlest patients. You should seesome parrots we get in here. They’d take your finger off as soon as you look at them.”

“Really, Logan? Who wants a long, slimy thing like that as a pet? It’s not a puppy, for God’s sake!” She tosses the bloodied paper towel into the trash can with unnecessary force.

“Mark, that’s who.” I shrug. “And for the record, snakes aren’t slimy. Their scales are actually quite dry and smooth. The sliminess is a common misconception.”

She stares at me, open-mouthed. I’m sure she’d like to say plenty of things to me right now. Not very nice things. Instead, she surprises me. Closing her eyes, she takes several deep breaths until she’s calm, or at least I hope she is. Once she’s composed, she turns her back on me and leaves the room. The door swings shut behind her with a soft click.

My brow creases into a frown, and I sigh, running a hand through my hair. She’s definitely an odd duck. The exam room feels empty without her presence.

I turn to clean up after the procedure. The tennis ball goes into the trash. I dispose of my gloves and disinfect the table, preparing it for the next patient. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about Emily.

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