Catboy - Eric Walters [29]
Sixteen
“I can hardly see in there,” Dr. Reynolds said. “Are you sure that’s even him?”
“It’s him,” I said. “That’s where he’s been for the last three days.”
The day after the dog fight, I hadn’t been able to find Hunter. I’d convinced myself he was okay and must be out hunting, exploring, roaming the streets. But the next day I found him sitting outside a narrow cranny where he was holed up. Unable to catch anything, he’d become hungry enough to accept my charity.
I’d hoped if I fed him for a few days, his leg would heal. Instead, it was getting worse. It was so swollen he wouldn’t let it touch the ground at all now, and he hobbled around on three legs.
The third day I decided to get help. I’d kept Dr. Reynolds’s card. When I called his number, I expected to get a secretary or receptionist and be given excuses as to why he wasn’t available or be told he’d call me back, or maybe I’d hear from him in a few days or a week. Instead, he answered the phone on the first ring, and here we were, less than an hour later, in the junkyard.
“I can’t assess him if I can’t see him,” Dr. Reynolds said.
“I can probably get him to come out,” I said. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a piece of baloney. “I’ll toss this and—”
“No, wait,” Dr. Reynolds said. “He’s probably hungry and food is the only thing we have going for us. Pass me that.”
I handed him the baloney, and he placed it inside the trap he’d brought.
“What if you put antibiotics in the meat? Would that help?” I asked.
“It might, but it’s risky. It might not be all he needs, and if we feed him we lose the only advantage we have— his hunger. With the baloney, I’m hoping to lure him into the trap.” He paused. “I know you don’t want to trap him. It doesn’t feel right, does it?”
I shook my head. It felt like we were tricking him.
Dr. Reynolds put the trap down beside Hunter’s hiding spot. “Now we have to move away, so he’ll take the bait.”
It didn’t feel right, but I had to trust the vet. What other choice was there? We shuffled back to the edge of the clearing and hoped Hunter would enter the cage and trip the door shut.
“So we just wait?” I asked.
“Wait and hope none of the other cats get in the trap instead.”
“I think we’ve scared the other cats away,” I said.
“They haven’t gone far, and that baloney will draw them out of wherever they’ve—there he is,” Dr. Reynolds said, under his breath.
Hunter peeked out of the cranny. He looked around. He could smell the baloney, but he wasn’t sure where it was. His injured paw was too swollen and infected to bear any weight.
He crept toward the trap. He smelled the meat, but he was nervous about the trap.
He took a few tentative steps into the opening of the trap.
“Just a little bit farther,” Dr. Reynolds whispered. “Get in there.”
Hunter hesitated with his head inside and his body outside the trap. He knew something wasn’t right and backed out. I knew if he could feed himself he would never have entered the trap.
He peered into the trap, trying to reach the meat without committing to going in. He couldn’t do it. He limped forward and was almost all the way inside.
“Come on,” Dr. Reynolds said.
Hunter edged forward and the door slammed shut. Hunter jumped, spun around and clawed at the closed door.
“We got him!” Dr. Reynolds said and jumped to his feet.
I trailed behind him as he ran to the trap. Hunter bashed against the sides of the trap, trying desperately to escape.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Reynolds said. “You’re going to be fine.”
Hunter hissed and snarled.
“He’s not very happy about this,” Dr. Reynolds said, stating the obvious.
“I’m not too happy either,” I said.
“I know it feels cruel, but what choice did we have?” he asked.
“I know.”
Hunter’s eyes were bright and angry but he wasn’t looking at Dr. Reynolds. He was staring straight at me.
I pretended to look at the magazine. My mother sat next to me and pretended to look at another magazine. All Dr. Reynolds had to read was either really old or titled Vet’s World