Chapter Sixteen

I know that Dr. Mac is a great veterinarian and that she told me not to worry. But I can’t help wondering about how Cuddles is doing. I worry during science class, looking at the empty spot where her cage used to be. I can barely eat during lunch because I’m still worrying. So instead, I go to the library and look up rabbit spaying on the Internet. Most of the links just say how good it is to have your rabbit spayed. But a few of them describe complications. So I worry the rest of the day and the entire bus ride home. I can’t wait to get to the clinic.

David gets off the bus with Josh and me. “I promised Dr. Mac I’d help feed the kittens after school today,” David tells Josh. “Do you want to come?”

“Sure,” Josh says. “Jules is heading over to pick up Cuddles, anyway. I just need to go home first and tell my parents. I can meet you there in about twenty minutes.”

“Great,” says David. “I’ll drop my stuff at home, too. See you there.”

Josh and I head home.

Mom wants us to wash up and eat a snack before we head back to Dr. Mac’s, but I’m so nervous about Cuddles, I can barely eat. I hope she’s okay.

Dad comes with Josh and me, while Sophie stays at home with Mom.

“I’ll decorate her house some more,” Sophie says. “And make her a welcome home sign.”

When we arrive, Josh heads off to find David. Dr. Mac is with another patient, so Dr. Gabe takes Dad and me to see Cuddles in the recovery room, a quiet, dimly lit room with other cages—mostly big cages for cats and dogs. Cuddles looks so tiny and alone.

“Hey there, Cuddles,” I say. I open the latch to pet her through the top of the cage. But she moves away from my hand and crouches down in the back corner of the cage. “Is she okay?” I ask Dr. Gabe.

“Yes, the surgery went fine. No problems. She might be a little more cautious for a day or two as she recuperates.”

Dad says, “Thank you,” and shakes Dr. Gabe’s hand. Then he squats down next to me to look at Cuddles.

“Dr. Mac will be out in a minute to tell you more about postsurgery care.” Dr. Gabe says.

Dad’s cell phone rings. He goes outside to answer it so he won’t disturb the animals.

“May I stay here with Cuddles?” I ask.

“Of course,” Dr. Gabe says.

“Thanks.” I sit on the floor outside Cuddles’s cage. “I’m here, Cuddles,” I say. She stays very still. She doesn’t approach me or look at me at all.

Dr. Mac enters the recovery room and squats down beside me. She listens to Cuddles with her stethoscope.

“Cuddles is doing just fine, Jules. The incision site might be sensitive, so be very gentle and try not to let her hop around too much. And be sure she eats and drinks. It’s important to keep a rabbit’s digestive system moving. She doesn’t look at ease here with the cats and dogs in recovery, so I think she’ll be happier at home.”

“Okay,” I say, happy I can bring her home but nervous, too. “Do I need to do anything?”

“Just keep her calm and quiet,” Dr. Mac says. “And try to get her to eat a little tonight if you can. The sooner she eats, the better.”

Dr. Mac lifts Cuddles carefully out of her cage and shows me her shaved belly, where the stitches are. “You can see, it’s a little tender now, but there shouldn’t be swelling or discharge. You can check her incision site once or twice a day. Keep her cage and litter box clean and that will help keep the incision clean, too.”

“Should I feed her anything different?” I ask.

“No, just your usual, or, if she seems reluctant to eat, give her any treats she likes,” Dr. Mac says.

“She loves apples and carrots,” I say.

“Perfect,” Dr. Mac says. “After you rinse them in water, don’t dry them off. That will give Cuddles a little bit of liquid at the same time, in case she is not drinking yet. And offer her plenty of hay as well.”

“I will.”

“Call or bring her back if she isn’t eating or using her litter box by tomorrow, if she’s not her usual self in a few days, or if it looks like there is any sign of infection at the incision site. There shouldn’t be, but keep an eye out just in case.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Dr. Mac.”

Dad is still outside on the phone. I can see him through the front window. Dr. Mac walks with me. I carry Cuddles in her cage toward the door, where we see Josh and David coming down the hall.

“Great, there you are,” Dr. Mac tells them. “The kittens are mewing and very hungry.”

“Kitten patrol to the rescue,” says David. “I brought Josh to help.”

“The more the merrier and the sooner they can eat, the better,” Dr. Mac says. “Be sure the calico gets enough. She’s been slower to nurse, and she isn’t gaining weight like the others.”

“Will do,” David says.

“They’re in the Dolittle Room, mewing up a storm,” Dr. Mac says. “The bottles and kitten formula are there, too, all clean and ready to go. You can take it from here, right, David?”

“Sure,” he says.

“All right, then. Bye, Jules. Bye, boys. I’m off to my next patient,” Dr. Mac says, and she heads toward the Herriot Room.

“Jules is great with cats,” Josh tells David. “It’s like she has a sixth sense—Animal Sense. Can she help us feed the kittens?”

“Fine by me,” David says.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have to watch Cuddles.”

“Just ask your dad to bring Cuddles home, or bring Cuddles in with us,” David says. “There’s plenty of room for her cage on the floor. Come on, we have to get started. You can help us with poop patrol, too.”

Of course I’d love to help with the kittens, but I think of Maggie telling me to stay away. And I think about Cuddles. She must be stressed enough from her surgery. I need to get her home and make sure she is calm and comfortable. I doubt she’ll like being around mewing kittens right now, even though I’d sure like to be.

“No, I have to go,” I say.

“Don’t you even want to see them?” Josh asks.

“Oh okay,” I say. “Just for a minute.” I poke my head out the door and tell Dad I’ll be out shortly.

“Take your time,” Dad says, and goes back to his phone call.

I bring Cuddles in her cage and follow Josh and David into the room with the box full of kittens.

They are even cuter than last time. The two gray ones and the two black ones are noticeably chubbier, lifting their heads and mewing loudly. But the little calico is tinier than the rest and her mew is so much weaker.

David and Josh wash their hands, and I go closer to peek into the box. “Feed the calico first,” I say. “She needs it the most.”

David fills five bottles with kitten formula, and then warms them in a pot of water. “You sure you don’t want to help us?” he asks.

“Oh, I do,” I say, “but I’ve got to get home.”

“Maybe next time,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say. I pick up Cuddles in her cage and leave the clinic, trying not to bump the cage too much.

Maybe next time. I wish I could come back when Cuddles is feeling better so I could help with those tiny kittens. But there won’t be any next time. Today might be my last time at Dr. Mac’s clinic before Cuddles’s next checkup. Looks like Josh is well on his way to being a Vet Volunteer. But not me.

I wish I hadn’t squished Maggie’s project on the bus. I wish I hadn’t said anything about the whole tutoring thing, or tried to “fix it” when Maggie was talking to Mr. Hart about her project. I wish that I was better at basketball and that Maggie didn’t think I was a snoop—or even worse, a thief. Everything’s gone from bad to worse with Maggie. It’s so bad now, I can’t ever be a Vet Volunteer.

Dad helps me carry Cuddles as gently as we can back home. I bring her to my room, keep the lights dim, and sit down next to her cage. She looks at me but stays hunched and still in the back of her cage.

“How are you doing, Cuddles?” I ask. “I know how you feel. Pretty rotten, huh?”

She has her hay and rabbit food to eat, but she is not touching it. She doesn’t go near her water bottle, either. Dr. Mac said to try to get her to eat as soon as possible. So I leave her for a few minutes to rinse some leafy greens, carrots, and apple slices. But she won’t even take the tiniest bite. Not even of her favorite, sliced apples.

She lets me pet her through the top of her cage, but it is pretty clear she does not want to come out and hop around. So I pet her, talk to her, and tell her I hope she feels better soon. I offer her more carrots and apple slices one by one, but she just turns her head and refuses to take a bite.

That night, I have a hard time going to sleep, worrying about her.