Boss isn’t anything like I remember. She’s scrawny and flea covered. Her left ear has a big notch in it. Her fur is dull, her body scarred, her tail cut short.
I’m afraid to ask how that happened.
She’s clearly had it tough, really tough.
“I thought I heard your bark,” I say, “but then it stopped. Figured I was crazy.”
“I was napping.”
“In this chaos?” I ask.
“I can sleep anywhere. It’s a gift.” Boss nibbles on a toenail. “Funny thing is I was having a dream about you. Must’ve caught a whiff of you in my sleep.”
I can’t stop staring. Boss. Here. With me.
“What?” she asks when she catches me looking at her.
“I was just wondering,” I say, “about your life. Do you have . . . you know, anybody?”
“You mean like humans? Nope.” She gives a little flick of her stubby tail. “Never have. Never will.”
“You’ve been on your own this whole time?” I flash on my cushy bed, my lovely food bowl, the way everyone knows just how I like my ear scratches.
“Yep.”
“How’d you end up here?”
“I was out scrounging for food. Just had another litter and I was tired, off my game. Animal control got me.” She licks a nasty cut on her front paw.
“Wait.” My ears prick up. “So . . . you have puppies?”
That would make me an uncle. A dog uncle, on top of being an honorary elephant uncle.
“Had the last batch seven, maybe eight weeks ago.” She scratches at a flea.
“Last batch?” I repeat. “You mean you’ve had others?”
“Yep.”
“What happened to them?”
“Dunno. It’s not like they come home for the holidays, Bob.” Boss lies down on the old towel lining our cage. “Or should I call you Rowdy?” She considers. “Nope. No, I like the sound of Bob.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway,” Boss says, “mostly they’re dead, I’d guess. You never know, though. Maybe a few got rescued.”
She’s so matter-of-fact. So resigned.
“This last litter, well, I thought I was onto something. Found this little car, you know those ones that look like a big ol’ bug? Abandoned. Right down by the creek, near that bridge. Easy access through a hole in the floorboard. Blanket in the back seat.” She pauses. “All the amenities.”
“How many puppies?” I ask.
“Three. But only one survived, a male. The other two were pretty sickly, and, well . . . you know.”
Something crashes into the front office. Sounds like a window has broken.
“We gotta get outa here!” an orange-striped cat howls. He throws himself against the front of his cage, then pokes out his paw, grabbing for the latch. “I’m too young to die!”
“When they caught me,” Boss continues, ignoring the cat, “I barked for the puppy to sit tight, wait. Told him I’d be right back.” She sighs. “Nice. Last thing he’ll ever hear was a lie.”
“What’s his name? The puppy?”
She looks at me like I asked her if she’s ever been to the moon. “I don’t name them, Bob. Just makes it harder.”
Below us, the water’s slowly rising, filling the empty lower cages. We watch the humans rush back and forth, carrying buckets, as if they can stem the tide.
There’s nothing to do. Nothing to say. And nowhere to go.