Not as a pet, exactly. More like part of the clinic. He slept on a folded towel behind the desk, wandered the hallway like he paid rent, and sat in the window every morning as if he were clocking in for a shift.
Then one Tuesday, a little gray cat came in for an exam.
She was terrified from the second she arrived. She slammed herself against the carrier door, breathing fast, eyes blown wide, making those low panic sounds cats make when they think something terrible is about to happen. Her owner was near tears. I couldn’t even get the carrier open without making it worse.
And then Patch walked over.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t act curious. He just came up beside that carrier and sat down.
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