by Brad Foster, 2020 ©
“Mama, Sotie bit me!”
Damn it all.
Darlene knelt in front of her daughter to inspect the wound. Looks like the cat took a few good swipes at her palm but no bite marks.
“Dr. Millard said to let her rest. Why didn’t you listen?”
“She was meowing real loud!” Marla began to cry as she looked at the claw marks seeping blood.
Darlene dressed her daughter’s wounds before putting her to bed.
“Will you see if Sotie’s OK?” Marla said, drifting off to sleep.
“You bet, baby” Dar kissed Marla’s forehead and switched off the light.
Darlene crossed the hall to the spare bedroom, where her ex-husband had resided before moving out last year. Now, it served as the sick room for the cat that she and Michael picked out together — a bright-eyed kitten they’d named …
“Sotie?” Dar called as she opened the door.
Low, phlegm-filled moans.
Shit!
Dar flipped on the switch. The light revealed their fifteen-year-old grey tabby convulsing on the floor. Darlene ran to the cat and scooped her into her arms.
Sotie let out a weak meow, then spewed oatmeal-colored vomit onto the carpet. Dar ripped open a drawer in the computer desk and grabbed the syringe containing the medicine that Dr. Millard had prescribed.
