Shallow Graves

head.“
    “Somehow I don’t think he’s in the mood to party.“
    “No, man. You put the thing over his head, small end down on his neck, then run the gauze through the slits on the thing there and pull on it a little.“
    “Why?“
    “Keeps him from being able to pick at his stitches with his teeth.“
    “How can he get to the stitches through the casts?“
    “Man, there aren’t any casts on him. Cats are tough. He’ll be fine once the anesthesia wears off.“
    “I thought it already wore off.“
    Donny was turned and halfway through the door again. “Probably has.“
    I hefted the box by the handle, and Renfield cried a little more. To Julie I said, “Do I need to give him anything?“
    “No. Just keep an eye on him. He acts funny, give the vet a call at the number on top of the bill.“
    As I carried the container toward the main entrance, Renfield began crying steadily.

    I parked in front of Nancy’s house in South Boston. Renfield’s box in one hand and my raincoat over the other arm, I used Nancy’s key on the front door. I also let the Lynches know I’d be up there for a while.
    In Nancy’s kitchen, I tossed my raincoat on a chair. I set the Munchkins box down on the linoleum and opened the handles carefully. The cat cried and flinched when the light hit his eyes, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
    “Jesus, Renfield. What did they do to you, boy?“
    His fur was all shaved from roughly his belly button down both rear legs and then halfway up his tail. He looked like a cross between a madly groomed poodle and a plucked chicken, especially through the legs, which were incredibly scrawny with just his skin covering them.
    I lifted him out carefully, Renfield growling and trying to bite my hands, but only weakly. I laid him gentiy on the lineoleum. His legs were bent funny, like he was doing a deep knee bend on his side, each leg showing a line of stitches five inches long. He tried to stand up on the linoleum, flopping back down and crying.
    I went into Nancy’s bathroom, rifling her linen closet for the oldest towel I could find. I brought a blue one back into the kitchen, doubling it over and spreading it out. I lifted Renfield onto the towel, figuring he’d have a better chance with better friction. The cat was almost able to get to his feet, then let out a terrible yowl and flopped over again. He tried to crick his neck enough to get at the stitches, just reaching the ones closest to his hip. I tried to keep him from them, which only frustrated him more.
    I realized I’d left the lampshade thing in the Prelude. I went down to the street, retrieved it and the gauze, and came back upstairs. By that time, the cat had managed to flop over to his other side, scrunching up the towel every which way. I straightened out the cloth, then tried to put the lampshade over his head.
    Renfield gave me a major argument, so I took the thing off and ran the gauze through the slits in the plastic first, like a man putting on his belt before pulling on his pants. Trying it again, I got worse noise, his cottonball front paws windmilling at my hands like a first-grader in a playground fight.
    I finally got the contraption over his head and secured, Renfield looking like a fantasy painting of an alien flower beast. As soon as I let go, however, he started growling and moaning, thrashing at the lampshade with paws that just skated across the hard plastic. I began to worry that he’d hurt himself, even strangle if he got it halfway off, but I couldn’t see tugging the gauze belt any tighter.
    That’s when I got out the bill and on the phone to the vet.
    I drew Julie behind the counter, who told me to hold on. Drumming my fingers through the Muzak, I finally heard a male voice with a singsong East Indian accent.
    “Hello, can I help you, please?“
    “My name’s John Cuddy, doctor. I just picked up a friend’s cat at your hospital, and he’s not doing too well.“
    “What is the name, please?“
    “Renfield.“
    “Renfield... Renfield—ah, yes. The gray tiger, bilateral knee—“
    “That’s him.“
    “What is the problem, please?“
    “He’s in a lot of discomfort, and he can’t seem to stand
    up.“
    “That is normal, sir. Partly the anesthesia, partly the weakness in the legs, yes?“
    “I also tried to put the lampshade thing on his head, but it’s driving him nuts.“
    “Ah, the Elizabethan collar. They do not like that much, do they?“
    “I couldn’t say. This is my