Chương 120: Book 4 - Chapter 9 C

Only after we were both done eating did Max show any interest in anything else. He checked out my plate, but I gently pushed him aside and started teaching him the word he needed to learn most: 'No.' I clicked on the laser, and got his immediate attention. Using it I had him pace me as we headed to my bedroom, then the attached bathroom. Max looked around curiously, eventually sticking his head into his new robotic cat box.

Plugged in, it sensed when he exited the box, waited a bit, then cleaned the clumps into a container for disposal. Seeing he understood what it was, I left him to do his business and sprawled on the bed. He soon came to find me and cuddle up, purring loudly. I'd taken advantage of the time in Tulsa to go to a pet store to pick up toys I knew he would love. It had gotten me out of the hotel and beyond the painful looks I was getting from Arthur and Jane before I left.

I pulled out his first toy, a large stuffed mouse. I squeezed it and the sharp cry got his instant attention. Comically large ears up and swiveling. Golden wild eyes focused on the purple mouse toy. I tossed it across the room and he bounded after, pouncing on it in a triumphant screech of toy squeaker. He was soon back on the bed, delivering his catch. It was a game he knew already. I threw it until he didn't bring it back, his signal that he was tired of the game. I looked at the clock, and decided to take a nap.

Soon his warm lanky body was curled up with mine. I woke up as we headed into San Francisco. I had one more birthday present in mind. Security had the usual three vehicles ready when I went down the stairs with an unhappy Max in his cage. It was early enough that we could make a quick stop on the way to the hotel I'd be spending the night in. Burlingame Pet Hospital was a nondescript building with a dearth of parking, tucked away behind similar buildings. Our convoy arrived as if we were invading.

The weather was a perfect summer San Francisco day, clear sky and 73-degrees with a stiff breeze. I walked into the building as security spread out in front and behind. Ever since the White House visit they seemed more alert and intense. I set Max on the counter.

"Good afternoon. I'm John Cook. I have an appointment with Dr Fleischman." The secretary nervously looked around, then at her computer screen. She looked up, then glanced warily at the low rumbling hiss of Max hidden at the back of his carrying cage.

"Maximilian?" she asked.

"Yes. It's time for his shots. He's three months old."

"Understood," she said.

"Please have a seat and the Doctor will be with you momentarily." I sat and idly flipped through a magazine as I waited. Security had become statues as they placed themselves around the room.

"Maximilian?" the nurse called. I picked up the case and headed to the door, Jack looking imposing in a fitted suit followed me back. He nearly had to turn to the side to fit the narrow hallway. The nurse settled Max's carrier on the stainless steel exam table, but made no move to release him.

"Dr Fleischman will be here shortly. Please do not release your pet until after he arrives," she said, and closed the door behind. Moments later a brief knock preceded his entry.

"Good afternoon. I'm Dr Fleischman," he said. His white doctors coat looking professional over his set of blue scrubs.

"Hello, I'm John Cook," I said giving the man a firm handshake. He glanced down at his notes, then up at me, then his eyes moved to Jack who was failing to hide in the corner of the room.

"Dr Cook?" he asked.

"That's me," I confirmed.

"Dr John Cook, PhD."

"Interesting. Now who is our patient today?" he asked and unlatched the cage. There was only one way Max knew to exit his carrying cage. It was with speed, power and a furry ferocity. Dr Fleischman leapt back as Max released not a meow, but a high-pitched prehistoric caterwaul that vibrated every glass jar in the room. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"What is he?" the Doctor asked.

"He's a new domestic breed," I told him.

"A Savannah."

"I've not seen one before," he said.

"He looks to have wild ancestry." I stepped up to Max and gave him a comforting pet, and he calmed.

"He's a Domestic Breed," I emphasized.

"That seems a little unlikely, Dr Cook. He is magnificent, and huge for fourteen weeks. He's already bigger than many adult cats." I held out an envelope, thick and filled with cash.

"He's an F2 cross of Serval and a Siamese Female. His mother was the only offspring of that union. Her mate was a Turkish Angora. But for the paperwork, he is a domestic cat. Your choice how you list him, but no mention of hybrid or Serval please. I'll be traveling and I don't need the hassle." The doctor took the envelope and slid it into his pocket, looking up at the hulking Jack, who winked at him. He quickly focused back on Max.

"Wonderful to see a new domestic breed for the first time," he said, playing along.

"These spots are fantastic. I think Bengal would be what he most resembles, even though they have rosettes not spots." He reached out and Max eagerly took the pets, filling the room with a deep vibrational purr.

"Have you had him long?" he asked.

"I bought him earlier today in New Jersey. We just got off my plane at SFO and came straight here. I wanted this taken care of before I took him to the Hotel."

"Understandable. He's at the perfect age. He should have three vaccinations. FVRCP, rabies and for a cat of this quality, Feline Leukemia."

"Those are all killed versions of the vaccine?" I asked.

"Yes, all three. The third, for Feline leukemia is two shots. He'll need to return for the second dose in two to three weeks. Will that be possible? If not, it would be better to wait."

"Three weeks is fine," I told him.

"I want the inactivated Leukocell injected in the left hind limb, distal to the hip. If the adjuvant triggers a fibrosarcoma, I want the option of surgery or amputation instead of a terminal diagnosis in his scruff."

"Is there a connection?" the Doctor asked.

"The latest research shows that vaccine injection tumors are the result of a reaction to the adjuvant added to the vaccine to enhance the immune response."

"I'll have to look that up. That will change where I give shots on all my feline patients," he said, gathering a set of towels. He set them on the table where Max curiously sniffed them, as I continued to pet him. He gathered up the three required injections, then looked up at Jack.

"I might need some assistance to hold him. Do you think you would be willing to help?" Jack gave me a look, and I nodded. The Doctor gave him a quick review of the process and the method of holding an angry predator during vaccination. I stepped back to watch from a safe distance. Jack moved in with the silent efficiency of a predator. He didn't just grab Max. He draped the first heavy towel over Max's shoulders while Dr Fleischman used a second one to create a thick fabric hood.

The moment the first needle touched Max's skin, the peace in the room shattered. Max didn't just struggle. He became a living centrifuge of muscle and claws. A piercing, percussive hiss exploded from under the towel as he twisted his seven pound frame with a strength that seemed physically impossible for a kitten.

"Firmly on the haunches!" Dr Fleischman yelled over the screeching. Jack leaned his full weight into his forearms, pinning Max's rear to the steel table. I saw the veins in Jack's neck bulge as he fought to keep the cat from corkscrewing out of the restraint. Max's long back legs kicked out like pistons, his talons shredding the heavy terry cloth of the towels with a sound like tearing silk. The first shot of Fel-O-Vax PCT went in high on the right shoulder.

Max let out a jagged, guttural yowl that felt like it was rattling my own teeth. Dr Fleischman didn't hesitate. He grabbed the second syringe, the Imrab 1 killed rabies, and buried it in the right hind leg. Max's tail whipped like a lashing cable, hitting the metal exam table with loud, wet thuds.

"Almost there, big guy," the Dr muttered, though his hands were shaking. He reached for the final syringe, the Leukocell. Following my exact instructions, he pulled the skin taut on the left hind limb, far down toward the hock. Max gave one final, Herculean heave. He managed to hook a claw into the sleeve of Jack's suit, the fabric giving way with a sickening pop. As the leukemia vaccine was depressed, Max let out a low, terrifying growl that sounded more like a leopard than a domestic cat.

The second the needle was out, Jack stepped back and I swung the carrier door open. Max didn't need an invitation. He bolted into the dark safety of the crate, his eyes glowing like radioactive emeralds from the back corner. He was panting, his sides heaving as he stared us down with a look of pure, cold betrayal. Dr Fleischman wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked at the ruin of the towels.

"I've handled bobcats that were less trouble than he was, Dr Cook."

"He's an apex predator in a small package," I replied, my voice steady as I checked the clock. The Dr walked to his desk and began typing out the certificates.

"Here is your paperwork. I have listed him as a Domestic Tabby/Bengal cross. The rabies tag is a standard one year issue. For the next twenty four hours, you need to watch him closely." He handed me a post-care sheet and gave the following instructions: Observation: Check for extreme lethargy or any swelling of the face or paws, which could indicate an anaphylactic reaction to the Leukocell adjuvant. Hydration: Ensure he has access to fresh water immediately.

The stress of the struggle can cause mild dehydration in hybrids. Site Monitoring: Check the left hind limb daily. A small lump may form due to the inactivated virus, but it should dissipate within two weeks. If it persists or grows, contact a surgical specialist immediately. Activity: Keep him quiet tonight. No high jumping or intense play until tomorrow morning to allow the injection sites to settle.

"He'll be fine," I said, taking the papers and signaling to Jack.

"He just needs a window to look out of. It tends to calm the nerves." Jack picked up the carrier, ignoring the shredded threads on his expensive sleeve. We walked out of the clinic, the armored caravan waiting at the curb to take us to the Hyatt Regency Burlingame.