Catalyst

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Seriously? It’s from Dune,” Surita said, exasperated. “A classic. The worms! The spice! Could there be a connection? Never mind. Isn’t that box overkill for a kitten?”

  “It’s not a kitten,” Zoe said.

  “Oh?” Surita said. “You’re finally admitting it’s a chipmunk?”

  “Please . . . we need a ride to the vet.”

  Surita sighed heavily, as if they were asking her to donate a kidney, not just take a break from sitting around and playing on her phone. She loved her obscure SF references, but at least it gave Zoe an idea for how to tempt her to drive.

  “The vet is across the street from Eastbury Town Comics,” Zoe wheedled.

  That worked. Surita agreed to drive them.

  * * *

  Sitting in the back seat, Zoe held the box on her lap. As soon as the car started moving, Pipsqueak started meowing. She had a deeper, louder meow than she had had as a kitten—which was, weirdly, yesterday. Zoe missed the tiny mews. This meow was heartbreaking. It tugged at Zoe, making her want to open the box and hug Pipsqueak until she felt better. Zoe hugged the box to her chest instead. “Shh, it’ll be okay.” The box shifted in her lap, as if Pipsqueak were pacing in circles inside it.

  At last they reached the vet, and she and Harrison piled out.

  “Text me when you’re done,” Surita told them. Waving, she drove to the comic book store across the street, leaving Zoe and Harrison in the vet parking lot.

  Harrison headed for the door, but Zoe hesitated.

  “Come on,” Harrison said. “The vet will know what’s going on with her.”

  Zoe was more nervous than she’d ever been going to a doctor for herself, even more nervous than when she knew the nurse would do one of those strep throat tests that always made her gag. Please, please, don’t be sick. Or, if Pipsqueak was sick, Zoe hoped there was a way to fix whatever was wrong. “It’ll be okay,” she said to the cat.

  No longer in the car, Pipsqueak had settled down in the box. Feeling as if that were a sign that the cat trusted her to do the right thing, Zoe followed Harrison inside.

  Other animals were in the waiting room with their anxious owners. A woman with hair as poofed as her poodle was paying for medication, and a mustached man with a parrot was giving detailed instructions for how to care for the bird while he was on vacation. This vet boarded animals as well as examined them. Zoe could hear, muffled through the walls, the squawks, squeaks, meows, and barks of various unseen pets.

  The poodle barked at Pipsqueak’s box.

  “Mew!” Pipsqueak cried.

  When it was Zoe’s turn, the smiling assistant at the front took Zoe’s name and address info, recording it all in her computer, then led them into one of the examination rooms. It had a silver metal table with a scale on it, like the kind in the fish market section of the supermarket.

  “You should buy a cat carrier,” the assistant told them, still with a smile on her face. “Much easier to carry, especially as your darling grows. Now, let’s see this beauty.”

  Zoe put the box on the table and opened it. She peered in. Did Pipsqueak look even bigger after the car ride? Maybe. It was hard to tell with all the fur.

  The assistant clucked her tongue. “Ah, what a pretty girl you are. Come on, pretty girl.” To Zoe, she said, “Does she have a history of biting?”

  “I’ve only had her three days,” Zoe said. “But she hasn’t bitten me.” She felt as if she should defend Pipsqueak, explain how she hadn’t been shy once she’d gotten over her initial fear, that she’d cuddled up to Zoe right from the start, that she was alert and curious and sweet and fun.

  Pipsqueak’s fur was fluffed, the way it was when she first saw Fibonacci, and her tail was extra bushy. The assistant made soothing noises as she lifted her out, one hand under her stomach and one holding her by the scruff of her neck. Pipsqueak looked plaintively at Zoe and then hissed at the vet’s assistant.

  “I don’t think she likes being held like that,” Zoe said. Pipsqueak’s pupils were so big, they pushed her irises into thin slivers, and she strained to reach Zoe, but the assistant’s grip was tight. Zoe began to regret bringing her here. She hadn’t meant to scare her. It’s for her own good, she reminded herself.

  “This type of hold is calming to them, similar to the way their mothers used to carry them.” The assistant lowered her onto the scale. “Thirteen point one pounds. Heavy, but not unhealthy for her large bone structure. The vet will be in to see her soon.” She lifted Pipsqueak and handed her to Zoe.

  Even though Zoe knew Pipsqueak wasn’t kitten-size anymore, she forgot to brace herself for the cat’s new weight. Pipsqueak filled Zoe’s arms, and Zoe took a step back, steadying herself and trying to look like she knew how to hold a grown cat. It felt a lot different from cupping a kitten in the palm of her hand. Pipsqueak’s legs sprawled out in all directions, and her fur tickled Zoe’s nose. She dug her claws into Zoe’s shirt, clinging as if she never wanted to let go.

  “Got her?” the assistant asked as she opened the door.

  “Oh yeah,” Zoe said. “I’m fine.”

  From outside, a cat meowed.

  Ears flicking forward, Pipsqueak immediately squirmed out of Zoe’s arms, leaped to the floor, and darted between the assistant’s legs. Zoe chased after her. “Pipsqueak, come back!”

  The back room of the veterinarian’s office was a junction of corridors: one led to a bank of cages partially filled with an assortment of dogs; another had a row of cat cages; and a third had a stack of cages for hamsters, snakes, birds, and other pets. Pipsqueak was climbing across the top of the cages that held rodents.

  Still smiling pleasantly, the assistant shooed Zoe back into the exam room. “No worries. We have experience with this. Please stay in the examination room. Only staff is allowed beyond this point.”

  Zoe retreated to the room, craning her neck to see Pipsqueak leaping from the top of a mouse cage to the top of a supply cabinet. The assistant closed the door, cutting off her view.

  “Everything okay?” Harrison asked when Zoe came back in.

  Zoe heard a crash, the sound of glass shattering, a woman swearing, and then a loud, indignant Rrr-row! A few minutes later the assistant returned with Pipsqueak in her arms and a woman in a doctor’s coat beside her. “You have a curious one here!” the assistant said with a perkiness that sounded a bit forced.

  “Sorry.” Zoe felt as guilty as if she’d been the one wreaking havoc in the back rooms. She also, secretly, felt a little bit proud of Pipsqueak for being clever enough to evade two animal experts, at least for a few seconds. Whatever was wrong with her hadn’t affected her cleverness or her speed. “Do I need to pay for damages?”

  Just as cheerful-looking as the assistant, the vet laughed. She had a warm chuckle, like a benevolent grandmother. “Most would say paying for the check-up is damage enough.”

  Harrison laughed, though it was more a dutiful recognizing-an-adult-made-a-joke kind of laugh than a real one. Zoe was too anxious to even fake it.

  The assistant held Pipsqueak down on the metal table while the vet examined her, feeling along the cat’s belly, behind her ears, and checking beneath her tail. Pipsqueak was quivering, her eyes fixed on Zoe, and Zoe wanted to pick her up and run home. I’m sorry, she thought at the cat.

  “Good musculature,” the vet commented. “Healthy coat.”

  So far, so good, Zoe thought. Maybe she’s okay? She allowed herself to hope that she’d overreacted. “She’s been growing very fast,” Zoe ventured.

  The vet chuckled again. “I bet your parents say the same about you.”

  Zoe instinctively slouched her shoulders as Harrison murmured, “Yeah, it’s not exactly the same.”

  Using an instrument, the vet peered into Pipsqueak’s ears, then pried her mouth open to peer into her throat. She listened to Pipsqueak’s heart.

  So far the vet hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual. That was good, right? Zoe wanted her to be healthy. “She really has b
een growing fast,” Zoe said. “We were thinking there could be something wrong with her pituitary gland.” She pronounced it carefully, hoping she was saying it correctly. She had a vague memory of hearing it mentioned in school, somewhere between talk of mitochondria and chlorophyll. “She was a kitten yesterday.”

  The vet took on a disapproving look. “That isn’t possible.”

  “I . . . But . . . I mean . . .” She hadn’t thought about what to do or say if the vet didn’t believe her. This was a vet! A doctor! She’d gone to school! There were diplomas on the wall and everything. She should be able to diagnose whatever was wrong with Pipsqueak.

  “It’s true!” Harrison said. “She has pictures.”

  Great idea! Zoe pulled out her phone and scrolled through the photos. “This was yesterday. And see, the day before. That’s compared to my hand.”

  “Very funny,” the vet said, though she wasn’t laughing, and her smile was strained.

  “It’s not a joke,” Harrison said.

  “These were obviously taken a while ago. Cats don’t grow that quickly.” She returned to checking Pipsqueak.

  “But the pituitary gland . . .” Zoe tried again.

  “There are no documented cases of gigantism in cats. In rare cases, cats can have problems with their pituitary gland, but it causes feline acromegaly, most commonly in male cats over age eight. Symptoms include a broader face, poor coat, weight gain—”

  “She’s definitely had weight gain!” Zoe said, waving her phone in the air. “Look!”

  “Acromegaly does not cause size increase like you’re describing.” The vet gestured at Zoe’s photo. “I don’t know if you two made a bet or if you just think you’re funny, but an animal’s health is not a laughing matter.”

  “We’re telling the truth!” Zoe cried. “Please, I just want to know if she’s okay.”

  “In that case, you should be relieved to hear that you have a healthy three-year-old cat. If you have any questions about her care—”

  “She isn’t even three weeks old!” If Pipsqueak was healthy, why had she grown so much faster than normal kittens? There had to be an explanation!

  The vet pressed her lips together. The assistant’s smile, which had seemed permanently affixed to her face, was wiped away. “We recommend an annual shot for rabies, distemper, and feline leukemia,” the vet said. Before Zoe or Harrison could say anything, the assistant jabbed Pipsqueak in the hind leg with a needle and then deposited her back in the box. “She’ll need a booster in three to four weeks. You should also consider having her spayed, if you don’t want kittens. Highly recommend, especially if you intend for her to spend any time outside. Please schedule an appointment for both, and no more practical jokes.”

  She and the assistant swept out of the room.

  “Mew,” Pipsqueak said plaintively.

  One of the dogs from the back room howled.

  They closed the box and carried her out and Zoe used her birthday money to pay for the visit as well as a few cans of overly expensive cat food (as the vet’s receptionist reminded her, you weren’t supposed to feed milk to a full-grown cat unless you wanted to risk digestive issues), a bag of dry food, litter, and a litter box. Harrison texted Surita, and they met her in the parking lot. Surita was carrying a plastic bag that was fat with comic books. She dodged a man trying to drag his dog—a very enthusiastic terrier who was straining at his leash, trying to reach Zoe and Harrison—to his SUV. “Come on, it’s not playtime,” the man was saying.

  Surita gave them a wide berth. When she reached Zoe and Harrison, she glanced back at the dog, which was still desperate to play. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend.”

  “Cute puppy,” Harrison said.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Surita said. “Aunt Rachel and Uncle Rizwan aren’t going to want another dog.”

  Harrison held up his hands in surrender. “It’s not me you have to worry about. Zoe’s the one who collects animals like other people collect Pokémon.”

  “So what did the vet say about your little rodent?” Surita asked.

  “She’s healthy,” Zoe said.

  She told herself that was good news.

  Except she still didn’t know why Pipsqueak had grown so fast.

   Chapter 4

  BY THE NEXT DAY, Pipsqueak was as big as a medium-size dog, and Zoe was officially freaked out. This isn’t possible, she thought.

  Except that it was possible, because the evidence was sleeping on her bed.

  Rushing to her computer, she typed quickly, her hands shaking. Maybe this has happened to another cat. Maybe someone somewhere can tell me what to do! She started with researching pituitary gland diseases, but it looked as if the vet was right—they didn’t affect cats the same way they did humans. So she switched to looking for fast-growing animals. After scrolling through photos of twenty-pound Flemish Giant rabbits, she visited the Guinness World Records website. She learned that a cat named Merlin from the UK had the world’s loudest purr (67.8 decibels), a cat named Alley performed the longest jump (six feet), and a cat named Blackie was the world’s richest cat (after inheriting $12.5 million from his late doting owner). Stewie, a gray tabby Maine Coon, held the world record for largest domestic cat at over four feet long, even larger than Pipsqueak (slightly), and the largest non-domesticated cat was a half-lion and half-tiger “liger” named Hercules from South Carolina, who measured four feet tall and nearly eleven feet long.

  “Are you related to any lions?” she asked Pipsqueak. Her voice, she thought, sounded on the edge of hysterical. So far, she’d seen absolutely nothing about rapidly growing dog-size cats. How can this be happening?

  “Mrrow?”

  Zoe didn’t think Pipsqueak was a liger, but she could be part Maine Coon, Savannah, Chausie, Ragdoll, Norwegian Forest, or Siberian cat—supposedly the largest domestic breeds, though the websites focused more on their final size than the speed of their growth. She didn’t find anything about how quickly Stewie the four-foot Maine Coon had grown. There has to be something to explain what’s going on! she thought.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Pipsqueak licking the fur on her back. Her tail was thumping against the pillow. Zoe wondered if the cat had picked up on her anxiousness. Zoe grabbed her phone, snapped a photo, and texted Harrison.

  He texted back: “Srsly? Come over. Bring cat. Must see.”

  “Let’s go,” Zoe said to Pipsqueak. “Maybe Harrison will have an idea about what’s happening to you.” She scooped the cat into her arms and staggered backward. Pipsqueak weighed as much as Zoe’s school backpack.

  She readjusted, trying to find a comfortable way to hold her. Pipsqueak clamped her claws into Zoe’s shoulder. “Ow,” Zoe said, but she didn’t try to dislodge her. There was something a little frantic about how the cat was clinging to Zoe.

  Maybe she’s scared too.

  “Don’t worry,” Zoe said out loud. “I’ll take care of you.”

  But what’s wrong with her?

  The vet had said she was healthy, but that was before she’d grown again.

  “Okay. We can do this. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.” She navigated her way down the stairs and called through the closed door of Mom’s office, “Going to Harrison’s!”

  “Have fun! And don’t eat all their snacks!” Mom called back.

  From the other side of the house, Alex chimed in, “Eat most of their snacks and then steal the rest for me!”

  “Sure!” Zoe shouted.

  “Check with Surita if you need anything,” Mom called. “Alex and I will be leaving shortly. Dad is already at work. Your kitten isn’t going to make a mess if you leave her unattended, is she?”

  “I’m taking her with me,” Zoe said. “She . . . uh . . . wants to play with Harrison’s dog. They get along great!”

  “Good! Glad she’s making friends.”

  Zoe lugged Pipsqueak out the kitchen door and lumbered across the yard to squeeze through the gate between the house
s. She let herself in through the Acharyas’ back door and lowered Pipsqueak to the floor.

  “Harrison?” she called. “I’m here!”

  She heard a boy’s voice from the den—“Dude, you’re kicking me out for a girl?”—and guessed that Harrison had had a friend spend the night.

  “A girl and her cat,” Harrison corrected.

  “But we were in the middle of a level! Wait—you aren’t, like, kissing her, are you? Is she your girlfriend? Ooh, Harrison has a girlfriend!”

  “If you mean Zoe, no, she’s not my girlfriend. If you mean her cat . . . we’re just dating.”

  “Seriously. You’re ditching me for Zoe the Giraffe?”

  Zoe tensed. She couldn’t stand the thought of Harrison’s other friends talking him out of being friends with her. Especially not now, when she couldn’t talk about Pipsqueak with anyone else. She remembered a conversation with her mom, an uncomfortable one where Mom went on and on about how boys and girls change as they get older. She’d talked a lot about changing bodies, which had been bad enough, but she’d also said that sometimes their friendships changed too. Sometimes boys and girls thought they couldn’t be friends anymore, the way they were when they were little kids. That’s wrong and stupid, Mom had said, of course boys and girls can be friends, but sometimes people have to do some growing up before they realize that. Zoe had sworn she’d never become the kind of person who thought like that, but she knew she couldn’t control what other people did. I don’t need to worry about this now, not when I’m already worried about Pipsqueak. Come on, Harrison, don’t do this to me. Don’t become wrong and stupid.

  Pipsqueak rubbed against her ankles a few times, as if comforting her.

  “I’m not ditching you,” Harrison said to the boy. “Your mom said she’d be here in five minutes, and that was five minutes ago. And then you’re going furniture shopping, because she apparently hates you.”

  A horn blared from the driveway.

  “See? Five minutes after five minutes ago is now.”