The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I’m so glad that the Animal Cruelty Task Force and Animal Services are here,” Bethany said from behind me, loud enough that a couple of those in uniform carrying the crates looked in our direction and smiled.

  I chose not to respond. Instead, I turned toward Mamie, now standing beside me, also not looking at Bethany. She watched with tears once more streaming down her lined cheeks as Herman, too, was loaded into one of the official vans, among a bunch of other similar-looking terriers.

  “Oh, Herman, I’m so sorry,” she cried. She turned to me. “Don’t you think I could get them to leave just one dog right now?” Her voice was so soft that I barely heard it over the shouts of the rescuers and the people who watched the show.

  Not to mention barks from some of the frightened dogs, including Herman. Even cat cries and hisses. I wished I could explain to them what was going on.

  Or not. I couldn’t make promises to them, or even to Mamie. But I could to myself. I wouldn’t stop until as many as possible—hopefully all of the animals—were healthy and well fed and placed in new, loving homes.

  “I don’t know,” I began gently, only to be interrupted by Bethany.

  “Why? So you could only mistreat just that poor animal instead of a hundred?” She spoke loudly enough that I glanced around but saw no reporters filming her.

  “It’s not like that.” Mamie sounded as tormented as the pets she had crammed into such terrible quarters. “I loved them all. If I didn’t take them in, who would?”

  “Now, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Bethany taunted. “If you’d done as we’d discussed, worked with me and with Pet Shelters Together, we might have been able to fix things around here, and done it much faster.”

  “There were other ways of getting it done faster,” I muttered, glowering at the woman. “Like as soon as you learned about the situation.”

  “Oh, but that wouldn’t have taught Mamie anything. Anyway, I need to go talk to someone. See you later, Mamie, dear.” Instead of walking off, though, Bethany took another step toward me. “We’ll talk soon, okay, Lauren?”

  I didn’t have time to answer before she hurried out the gate. She stopped at a parked van—one from a TV station, not Animal Services.

  “She did this,” Mamie cried, gesturing toward the chaotic scene in front of us. “She ruined everything.”

  Maybe, to some extent, Bethany was right. Her timing and rationale might have stunk as badly as the interior of Mamie’s house, but her discussions with Mamie had in fact spurred my old mentor to call me, and thus, eventually, saved some animals’ lives. I didn’t want to throw that into the face of the distraught woman in front of me, though.

  Which felt weird, upside down somehow. I was used to confronting people who abused animals, leveling threats and accusations of my own. I couldn’t fault what was happening here, but I also wasn’t going to rub Mamie’s nose in it. Not now, at least. I don’t like to see any creature suffering, not even someone who’d made such terrible mistakes, and that was definitely the case with Mamie.

  “Oh!” Mamie cried again as a cart stacked with crates filled with cats was being maneuvered out to the street, to another Animal Services van. “My babies!”

  I wanted to shake some sense into her but realized it would be futile. Plus, I didn’t know how delicate her mental state really was. Maybe if I got her talking . . .

  I turned and gestured for Mamie to follow me back in the direction of the house, a little farther from the chaos. She complied, though she looked reluctant.

  “Do you want to tell me more about what happened?” I asked when we stopped. “I gathered that Bethany twisted your arm in an attempt to get you to join Pet Shelters Together, right?” Mamie nodded. “That’s how she threatened you?” She nodded again. “What did she say?”

  Mamie’s smile was full of irony. “That she’d call in Animal Services if I didn’t join and they’d arrest me.”

  Which still could happen. She might be hauled in for animal cruelty or some other charges, but I wasn’t sure. I’d have to check with Matt about how this kind of situation was usually handled.

  “So why didn’t you just join?” I asked Mamie.

  She shook her head, bouncing her red curls. “I considered it. It sounded wonderful at first, but I needed to know more. I began to look into Pet Shelters Together, and Bethany. She had an amazing business background—did you know?” I shook my head. “Well, she did. I thought she knew what she was doing, running organizations and all, and that the animals would benefit. But when I started asking people who’d already joined some questions about what was good and bad about Pet Shelters Together, I wasn’t so sure. Besides . . . I wasn’t really ready to give up on my own shelter, you see?”

  I did. Getting that kind of help would have meant ending her hoarding sooner. Bethany’s threats or not, Mamie hadn’t been ready to give up on her lifestyle.

  “Have you considered joining Pet Shelters Together, Lauren? I mean, having HotRescues join it?”

  I blinked at the unanticipated question. The answer was, of course, no. But my situation was unusual—ideal circumstances for a pet rescue administrator. I didn’t need to band together or coordinate with anyone to get the funds HotRescues needed, thanks to its rich benefactor, Dante DeFrancisco.

  Sure, we held fund-raisers now and then. But they were intended to publicize animal rescue in general, and HotRescues in particular—and not because we were hurting for money.

  “No,” I told her. “I haven’t.”

  “Good. You’d only regret even considering it, like I do now. I told Bethany very politely that I appreciated her invitation but I’d decided to decline. That’s when she started threatening to expose me. She said she’d save these animals anyway, and I’d be the one to suffer. She got so loud and mean that I started trying to avoid her, but she kept calling and coming here and making more threats—” And not saving the animals, damn her. “—and that’s why . . .”

  “That’s why you decided to call me?”

  She nodded.

  I’d thought Mamie looked aging and frail before, but now, as she stared at me solemnly, then turned back to watch the loading process, I had the sense she was thinking about how her life had just ended, even though she was still alive.

  Or maybe she was even considering how to terminate that part, too.

  I felt so torn inside that I almost wished I could sever my own painful, ambivalent feelings from my heart. No matter how ill-treated the animals had been, abusing them hadn’t been her intention.

  Only the result.

  I noticed another Animal Services car double-park along the street. It looked familiar, but many of the cars looked alike. The person who got out definitely looked familiar, though. It was Captain Matt Kingston.

  He didn’t seem to see me at first, or maybe he wasn’t looking for me. He talked initially to a couple of the Animal Services folks while patting some dogs on the head, then conversed with a few uniformed cops who were apparently part of the Animal Cruelty Task Force. One of those cops turned and pointed toward me. The group headed in our direction.

  What was going on?

  “Hi, Lauren,” Matt said when he reached where I stood with Mamie, at the side of the yard. “Is this Ms. Spelling?” He nodded toward Mamie.

  He was wearing his official Animal Services uniform. He was also wearing his official Animal Services attitude. His expression, as he watched me for an answer, was remote, not at all the fond way he’d come to look at me when we visited each other at our respective rescue facilities or even got together for dinner or drinks or more.

  I kept my own demeanor strictly professional, too. “Yes. Captain Matt Kingston, I’d like you to meet a long-time—” Well, former. “—friend of mine, Mamie Spelling. Mamie, this is Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services.”

  “And this is Officer Truax of the Los Angeles Police Department,” Matt said. “He’s a member of the Animal Cruelty Task Force.”

  A burly, unif
ormed man stepped from behind Matt. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to the introduction. Instead, he neared Mamie—like a giant hawk approaching a mouse.

  “Will you come with me, ma’am?” Though he phrased it as a question and his tone was soft, he clearly expected Mamie to comply.

  I aimed a questioning glance of my own at Matt. He nodded. Softly, he said, “I’d asked that no one start talking to the owner of this property until I arrived, and everyone involved was kind enough to agree.”

  In other words, he’d done it for me. He didn’t understand exactly what my relationship was, or wasn’t, with Mamie, but even though he had encouraged the city’s forces to come and rescue the abused animals, he’d been sweet enough to make sure he’d talked to me before anyone started dealing with her.

  “That’s very nice.” My tone was a bit warmer than before. But I couldn’t let go of my professionalism—or my concern about Mamie. “Matt, could I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” He looked at the others. “Officer Truax, why don’t you hold off for a few minutes? Just keep Ms. Spelling company for now.”

  Fortunately, the guy didn’t seem surprised by the request. Or maybe it was a command, since Matt was a captain in Animal Services—although he wasn’t a cop.

  “Let’s go over here,” Matt said, and we went around the corner of the house. I noticed that the yard that had been so full of animals before was empty, except for the myriad of filthy enclosures.

  “What’s going to happen to Mamie now?” I asked as soon as I thought we were beyond her hearing.

  “I understand your concern for your friend, Lauren.” Matt reached out to clasp my hands in his. I hung on, but needed answers before I could feel reassured. “We treat hoarders different from most abusers, though. We consider hoarding largely a mental disease. The condition of Mamie’s place wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, but—What do you think? How does her mental state seem to you?”

  “Awful!” I took a deep breath and stared into his brown eyes. They appeared full of sympathy. “I came here because I was afraid, from what she’d said on the phone, that she was suicidal. Now, I’m not sure . . . but I can’t say that she isn’t, either. She seems to be changing moment by moment, from flakiness to sadness to anger.”

  “That’s helpful for us to know. Here’s what’s likely to happen.” He described briefly how Mamie would be taken in for a psychological evaluation. “The hold is likely to be for a maximum of seventy-two hours, and then she’ll probably be released. Most hoarders, at a minimum, suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder, but there may be even more to Mamie’s situation. Let’s get that process started, and I’ll explain to you later how the way she acts will affect how we deal with the animals. We’ll keep them safe in any event, of course, and have them checked by a vet.”

  “Will Mamie be prosecuted for animal cruelty or something?” I asked.

  “Yes, but she’ll most likely wind up on probation. Incarcerating hoarders, with their mental conditions, is usually counterproductive—but we can monitor how well they comply with the terms of their probation.”

  “Most likely?”

  “You know I can’t give absolute assurances.”

  “I get it. And I will want to learn more later. But for now . . .” I squeezed Matt’s hands, then let them go.

  I returned to where we had left Mamie and the officer.

  “I think things will be all right,” I told her. She smiled and took a few steps away from the police officer. “The animals will be well cared for. But there are possible consequences for you. Mamie, do you happen to know any lawyers?”

  She stared from the cop, to Matt, to me, looking confused. “My niece, but—”

  “What’s her phone number?” I withdrew my BlackBerry from my pocket, ignoring the glares from both men.

  “I . . . I’m not sure.”

  I got her name, at least, from Mamie, did a search on my smartphone, and made the call—noticing, as I pushed in the number, that Bethany still stood near one of the media vans. She was pointing in our direction.

  Obviously, she’d noticed the uniformed cop standing by Mamie, too.

  Fortunately, I reached Janice Spelling immediately. I told her what was going on with her aunt. “Are you local—in L.A.?” I asked, since her law firm had a couple of offices.

  “Yes, but I haven’t seen my aunt in . . . Never mind. I’ll be there in half an hour. Please tell her not to answer any questions.”

  “Okay,” I assured her, then hung up. “Don’t say anything till she’s with you, okay, Mamie?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Fine. Let’s wait over here.” I’d spotted a cement bench in what had once probably been Mamie’s garden and led her over to it. We both sat.

  I suspected what was coming. It was entirely appropriate. Psych evaluation and likely probation or not, Mamie might be questioned about whether this was her property, how long the animals had been under her care and control, and whatever else it might take to determine whether there was enough evidence to arrest her for animal cruelty.

  I was certain what the answer would be.

  Chapter 4

  There wasn’t much I could do after that, except to worry about the situation . . . and the animals. Would they all be okay?

  And what about Mamie? What would happen to her now?

  Did I care? Despite what she had become, yes, I did. I supposed it was because of our history.

  A short while later, the woman I assumed was Mamie’s niece arrived—a lady around my age in a business suit who hurried up to the gate, showed an ID, and was hustled inside by one of the cops guarding the entry.

  I hurried over to her. “I’m Mamie’s . . . friend, Lauren Vancouver. Are you her niece?”

  “Yes, I’m Janice Spelling.” She didn’t meet my eyes as she spoke. “Look, I’ll do what I can for her, but the thing is—well, the family has mostly lost contact with her.” She gazed at the activity, watching animals being shuttled off the property.

  “You knew of her hoarding?” I asked in as nonjudgmental a tone as I could manage.

  “That’s why we haven’t talked to her for a while.” Janice finally looked directly at me, and I saw the regret in her expression. “We saw what she was becoming, tried to get her help . . . but she got mad at us. Things continued to deteriorate between us, and—Well, I’ve read up on hoarders. What happened with our family isn’t unusual. But maybe now I can do something . . . although I’m not a criminal attorney, and I think she’ll need one. Can you tell me where she is?”

  I pointed to the house, and Janice hurried in that direction.

  In a bit, Mamie was ushered back through the gate. She shot me a frantic smile before being loaded into an official vehicle the way the animals had been—a cop car, not an Animal Services van. Her niece followed, a set of car keys in her hand. I figured she genuinely intended to do what she could for her aunt.

  But what she’d said wasn’t a surprise. I’d heard of families trying hard but eventually giving up on determined, psychologically unstable hoarders.

  Matt again assured me that Mamie was being taken to a hospital for a mental evaluation. The animal evacuation was pretty much over by then. The crowd had begun to disperse, and so had the media vans.

  I’d taken a place on the sidewalk near the gate where the animals were brought out, a good location for viewing as much as possible while staying out of the way. I stood there now with my arms folded, hugging myself in solace.

  After Mamie was gone, Matt joined me again. “This really sucks.” I didn’t even try to keep the dejection from my tone. He’d know what I was feeling anyway.

  Matt is around six feet tall. He looks good in his uniform—khaki shirt, green slacks, and jacket, with a nametag and all the patches and badges to show he was highly placed within Animal Services.

  Right now, he appeared as grim as I felt. “I agree,” he said. “At least none of the animals looked too ill or malnourished. With luck, they’ll all be
okay.” At least he was confirming my initial impression and not making me feel like a foolish optimist.

  “Isn’t this great!” chirped a perky voice from behind me. I knew who it was even before I turned. Bethany was smiling, hands clasped in a gesture that suggested she might start applauding.

  “What do you mean?” My voice must have sounded as menacing as I felt, since Matt put an arm around me and squeezed gently.

  “All those animals have been saved and the person who hurt them will be punished. I’m just so glad I was able to do this.”

  I blinked at her. I’d never believed that attractive women were airheads, even those who used too much makeup. Plus, I’d gathered from the little I knew about her background that Bethany was probably a smart lady.

  So what was she talking about?

  “What did you do?” Matt’s soft words echoed my thoughts.

  “Didn’t Lauren tell you? I’m a friend of Mamie’s. I was so worried about her and the animals that I started trying to help her. She wouldn’t let me, though, even when I pushed her a bit to join my network of rescuers.” A slight pout creased her brow, but she didn’t allow it to stay very long. Maybe it would stick and ruin her perfect looks. “But she did the next best thing and called Lauren. Lauren called Animal Services, I’ll bet.” She met my eyes.

  My eyes are green, set in a mid-forties face that has weathered fairly well, but isn’t especially glamorous—and certainly not slathered with a lot of makeup.

  Hers, on the other hand, could have been ready for a Hollywood camera operator to start filming the second she began to speak her lines. Her words definitely sounded enhanced with fiction.

  “Since you obviously knew about this situation before,” I said between gritted teeth, “I’d still like to understand why you didn’t get help sooner for both Mamie and these poor animals.”

  “I was just so hoping that Mamie would come to her senses herself.”