Fat Cat At Large

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After the vet had taken Quincy’s temperature and peeked into his ears and mouth, he lifted the cat onto the scale and frowned.

“Is he healthy?” she asked. “I wanted to get him checked, since we just moved here. I adopted him from a shelter. He was the smallest of the litter. Little stick legs, and that sweet tail—it stuck straight up. Someone had dropped them off on the beach.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he’s gotten this big. Isn’t he handsome?” She was chattering. Like a ninny. She needed to stop chattering.

“You say he was found on a beach? Lake Calhoun?”

“Oh no, Lake Michigan. I got him when I was living in Chicago.”

When the vet looked at her, she noticed his deep-set, coffee-brown eyes for the first time. They matched the little chocolate labs on his white coat. Except the little dogs couldn’t give her that flutter inside.

“Where do you live now?” he asked.

“Here. Minneapolis. Dinkytown.” There, that wasn’t chattering.

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