The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,168
understand that my painkillers were contained in the tube. If I removed it, the agonies it was keeping at bay would quickly overcome me.
No, the tube would remain until I was ready to make my escape. That was the sensible choice, the choice that led to a clean exit. I could collapse once I was somewhere safe, whether that be the Court of Cats or back in Helen’s bedroom. The thought of her hands stroking my ears was almost enough to chase the last, lingering traces of pain away.
“A handsome boy like you must have an owner,” said the man, holding his fingertips up to the cage bars for me to sniff. I did so obligingly and then, knowing what was expected of me, I rubbed my cheek against them, marking him as my own. “They’re probably worried sick about you, huh? I hope they show up soon. I need to ask them why you don’t have a microchip.”
I meowed at him.
“Don’t be a baby. Microchipping doesn’t hurt. We just pop it under all that loose skin at the back of your neck and then you don’t have to worry about getting out and getting lost. We’d already have your people on their way to see you if you had a microchip.” His expression turned sober. “Of course, maybe it’s better for you that we haven’t found them yet. Once we know who they are, they can refuse further care. You’re an expensive little guy, my friend, and your treatment isn’t finished. I see a lot of good cats die because people don’t think they’re worth what it costs to heal them.”
That couldn’t be right, could it? People who kept cats as pets took care of them, loved them, made sure they had everything they needed to be healthy and hale. I understood enough about human concepts of money to know that sometimes they would run out of it—October was forever complaining that Quentin and I needed to get jobs if we were going to continue to devour her bank account—but the idea that someone could simply refuse to pay for medical care was baffling.
“So as long as they’re not here, we can treat you, and if they can’t pay your bill, I guess we have a new foster.” He held his fingers up to the bars again. “I’ll be honest, I expect you’re going to go home with whoever owns you. You don’t seem like a long-term resident of a place like this. You seem more like the kind of cat who knows he’s in charge, and doesn’t understand why anyone would argue.”
You have no idea, I thought, and meowed at him again.
“I’m going to go tell Dr. Bailey you’re awake,” said the man. “Try to stay that way until I come back, all right?” He pulled his hand away from the bars and walked away, leaving me alone.
“He has you fooled,” said a new voice.
I looked down. There, on the floor, was a fluffy black-and-white cat with yellow eyes, looking disdainfully up at me.
“I know what you are,” she said. “Cait Sidhe. Shapeshifter. Too good for the likes of us. Slumming, shapeshifter? Or did you really go and get yourself hit by a car by accident?” She flattened her whiskers, telegraphing amusement.
I bristled, or tried to, anyway. I was too tired to do more than flick one ear in irritation. “If you must know, I am a Prince of Cats, and I was struck in the process of saving one of my subjects. They would have been killed if they’d been hit in my place. I am a hero.”
It felt good to refer to myself that way. October’s heroism is recognized by the Queen in the Mists. Mine might be smaller and more contained, but that doesn’t negate it. I saved Cal’s life. I saved Helen’s, too, back in Blind Michael’s lands, and she saved mine, more than once.
We’re all heroes. We all do what we have to, when we have to.
The cat below me curled her lips back and made a disgusted sound. “Are you enjoying your cage, hero? Do you intend to fill your stomach with crunchy biscuits and then run away into the shadows, the way your kind always does?”
“Why are you talking to me like this? The Court of Cats is always open to any of our kin who have need. If you’re angry because you want for something, you could have come to us. We would have done our best to help you.