53
“Time to pick up your mother from the beauty par-
lor,” says Daddy way too soon.
“That cat’s got some pounds on him,” says the
officer as we step out of Howdy’s cage. “He’ll probably
lose a few. Most do. At least the ones that make it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
I look into Tinkerbell’s pen. That’s when I notice.
No bowl of water. No bowl of food. No pan of litter.
No small white card on the cage.
“Y’all were supposed to take care of her,” I cry.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will block out
the truth. Tinkerbell was leaving four weeks before
Howdy.
“We did our best,” says the officer.
I open my eyes and pull away from the cage.
Poor Tink. I am sure she died of a broken heart.
“Oh, Howdy,” I say. “You’ve got to be strong.”
I trudge out of the building after Daddy, my insides
tight and twisty. The waterfront just across the way
mirrors the dark gray sky.
•
q
•
On the drive back over the Pali Highway, I close my
eyes and count.
