Chapter 6 continues
So far: The needs of Cloud the kitten mean leaving the cabin.
The town was a mere seven minutes away, down two dirt roads and a few miles on a major highway. The vet, John Starling — really, that was his name — confirmed for me that Cloud was a she. And that she had ear mites, which was why her ears looked like they were placed crookedly on her head. And that she was about ten weeks old.
Cloud was not happy about being examined by the vet. First she spit at him, then she tried to rake him with her small paws, and when he held her firmly and she could do nothing else she yowled her ghastly wail.
"Wow, she's a little banshee, isn't she?"
I nodded. I couldn't say anything. I wondered if he knew that banshees are usually an omen of someone's death.
After visiting the vet's, I wrapped Cloud up in her blanket and left her in the car. She was still hissing and fussing with her ears from the medicine the vet had put in them. Now she looked crooked and oily again and angry.
The town only had a gas station, a post office, a hardware store, the vet's, Sven's café, and a grocery store. Any other needs and you had to go to Brainerd, twenty miles away.
Elsie Sandberg was at the cash register of Bob and Judy's Grocery Emporium. She worked most afternoons. I wasn't sure how old she was, I guessed near seventy, but whatever her age, she looked full of piss and vinegar, as my mom would say: perfect posture, crisp salt and pepper hair, white as snow smock with her name embroidered on the front. The embroidery was well done too, I suspected by Elsie herself.
