Chapter 1
I sat in the doctor’s waiting room, my cat Prozac in my lap, praying the poor thing wouldn’t suffer, that the procedure would be over quickly, with no need for extra painkillers. I had to remind myself that she’d had a good life and that if the worst happened, she wouldn’t even know what hit her.
Wait a minute. Is somebody out there wiping away a tear? Did you actually think Prozac was about to bite the dust?
Heavens, no. It wasn’t Prozac I was worried about. (That cat makes Vin Diesel look like Tinker Bell.) It was our darling veterinarian, Dr. Madeline Graham. Last year she wound up getting seven stitches after simply trying to clean Prozac’s teeth.
Now I sat in Dr. Madeline’s waiting room, Prozac baring her soon-to-be-cleaned teeth at me from her perch in my lap, and prayed that no blood would be shed in the course of her annual checkup.
Dr. Madeline practiced out of a converted bungalow near the beach in Santa Monica, her waiting room a former parlor with lace curtains on the windows and a fireplace filled with a carton of well-worn pet toys.
Behind a faux antique desk sat Trudi, Dr. Madeline’s receptionist, a no-nonsense woman with a steel-gray ponytail and a faint scar on her arm—the latter, compliments of Prozac.
Between answering phone calls, Trudi chatted with the waiting clients—a middle-aged man with a hulking rottweiler, and a young gal with a gorgeous white kitty.
The rottweiler, who just a few minutes ago had come sniffing over to make friends with Prozac, now sat cowering at his owner’s feet, still shaken by the wrath of Prozac’s fiery hiss.
I smiled apologetically at his owner, but the guy just glowered at me.
“It’s never the animal’s fault,” I heard Trudi say to him in a booming stage whisper. “It’s always the owner.”
I certainly wasn’t winning any popularity contests in this waiting room, was I?
“You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” I cooed in Prozac’s ear. “All we’re going to do is check your heart, look in your ears, and give your teeth a teeny little scraping, okay?”
She gazed at me through slitted green eyes.
Go ahead. Make my day.
I could practically see the EMTs wheeling Dr. Madeline off in a gurney.
Ignoring the angry thump of Prozac’s tail on my thigh, I forced myself to think about all the good things in my life. Like the two-for-one special on Double Stuf Oreos at my local supermarket. And the Starbucks gift card I’d discovered in a pile of unpaid bills. And, most important, my upcoming vacation in Hawaii.
Yes, in less than a month, I, Jaine Austen, a gal who usually watches her ocean sunsets on Beachfront Bargain Hunt, was about to take off for ten glorious days in Maui. True, I’d be spending those ten glorious days with my parents, not anyone’s idea of a romantic getaway. But still, ten days in the sun, with nothing to do but sit back, sipping mai tais, and have my parents fuss over me, sounded quite heavenly.
Who needs romance, I always say, when you’ve got parents with an unending supply of love and fudge?
I was thinking about how I really needed to get myself a cute pair of strappy sandals for the trip when the door to the waiting room whooshed open and in breezed a hefty gal swathed in layers of crinkly gauze, a mass of bangle bracelets jangling on her arms. Her hair was swept up in a sloppy bun, anchored in place by two bright red enamel chopsticks.
She swept over to Trudi in a cloud of patchouli.
“Trudi, love,” she said, bending down to give her an air kiss. “Where’s that darling kitty you told me about?”
Trudi pointed to the other cat in the room, the snow-white beauty sitting demurely on her owner’s lap.
“Oh, she’s precious,” Ms. Chopsticks crooned. “But not exactly what I was looking for.”
And then she caught sight of Prozac.
“My God!” she cried, her eyes lighting up. “That one’s perfect!”
And like a shot, she was jangling across the waiting room.
“What a darling kitty!” Ms. Chopsticks said, plopping down in the chair next to me. “What’s her name?”
“Prozac.”
“Prozac? Just what the doctor ordered! At least mine did. Three times a day,” she confided with a jolly wink. “Mind if I pet her?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. She scratches.”
“And I’ve got the scars to prove it,” Trudi said, eyeing her arm ruefully.
“Oh, the precious angel would never scratch me!”
And before I could stop her, she was swooping Prozac up in her arms.
Visions of lawsuits danced in my head, but much to my relief, Prozac had suddenly switched to Adorable Mode, all big eyes and loving purrs.
I was soon to discover the reason why.
“Would Prozac like a yum-yum?” Ms. Chopsticks asked, taking a Baggie full of cat treats from her purse.
Was she kidding? When it comes to treats, Prozac’s a gal who can’t say no. (She takes after me that way.)
Soon Prozac was inhaling kitty treats at the speed of light, making disgusting snorting noises as she sucked up her chow.
“She has quite an appetite, doesn’t she?” My companion stared down at Prozac in awe.
“If it’s not nailed down, she generally eats it.”
“That’s wonderful!” Ms. Chopsticks said. “She’s going to be perfect for the Skinny Kitty commercial.”
“Skinny Kitty?”
“It’s a new diet cat food. She’s eating it now. They’re shooting a commercial for it next week, and we’ve been looking all over for a cat to star in it.”
In her lap, Prozac inhaled the last of the cat food and belched in content.
“I’m Deedee Walker,” Ms. Chopsticks said, handing me a business card. “Agent to the Animal Stars. I know star quality when I see it, and I see it in your darling kitty.”
We both looked down to where Prozac was now sniffing her privates.
“We’re holding auditions tomorrow at ten a.m. The address is on my business card. Please bring Prozac. I’m sure she’ll be wonderful.”
Really? The cat who, for as long as we’ve been together, has refused to sit still for a single Christmas photo?
But before I could voice any objections, Deedee had plopped Prozac back in my lap and was sailing out the door, bangles jangling in her wake.
I sat there, stunned. Was it possible my fractious furball had what it took to be a star?
I gazed down at her now and watched as she plucked an ancient Cheerio from the depths of her tail.
She lobbed me a look of sheer pride.
I think there’s a gummy bear in there, too!
So much for stardom.