King of Cats

By Charmed Chicken Media

Melody Young is fighting a losing battle to keep her no-kill animal shelter open in the face of opposition from casino developer Stephen Merritt. But her life changes when she rescues a cat that is more than it seems, and meets Ty Felix, who will prove to be both the helping hand she needs in her fight and the lover of which she’s always dreamed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charmed Chicken Media
• Release date: Jun 4, 2016

Charmed Chicken Media

Mary has charmed the muse her entire life. As a published author (over 40 books, since 2002), editor, publisher, musician, and do-it-yourselfer, she rejoices in the flow of creative energy in her life. And she helps writers charm their muses for more productivity, more passion, and more profit!

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King of Cats

Chapter One

Melody Young pulled back out into traffic and hit the autodial function on her cell phone headset to call the shelter.

Paws and Claws No-Kill Shelter, this is Rita. How may I help you?

At work early again. Thank goodness. Rita, this is Mel. I’m on my way in to work with a hit-and-run case. Male cat, about fifteen pounds, domestic shorthair with Abyssinian coloring. Blood around the muzzle, probable fracture of the left rear leg, possible internal injuries. Some SOB swerved to hit him while he was eating road kill. Is Brian in yet?

He just walked in the door, Ms. Young. I’ll let him know he’s got a patient, Rita told her. Oh, and someone sent you flowers.

Put them on my desk. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Hopefully, this little guy can hold on that long. She hung up and drove, a frown of irritation furrowing her brow. Flowers? What the hell? Jason broke up with me three months ago. I don’t think he’s trying to get back in my good graces, not after what I said when I caught him in bed with that silicone-inflated bitch in our apartment. She reached up to shove an errant lock of fire-red hair out of her eyes, the sun shining into her slate-blue eyes. Gonna be a busy day. I’ve got two people coming in after lunch looking to adopt a dog, and that meeting with the shelter inspector at eleven, and that new volunteer coming in this afternoon to start work. She spared a moment to look down at the carrier on the front seat. She could still hear the cat breathing inside—a good sign, one she hoped meant that the asshole hadn’t hit the cat very hard.

She arrived at the shelter in just under the fifteen minutes she had promised Rita and came around the side of her car to retrieve the carrier, her steps brisk as she carried it inside. Rita sat at the reception desk as always. Last week’s blonde dye job had been replaced with jet-black layered over royal blue. She’s going to have no hair left if she keeps dyeing it every week, Melody thought, grimly amused. But it’s her hair. If she comes in bald, I suppose she wouldn’t have to worry about ticks or fleas. Brian?

The surgical room is prepped, Mel, Rita told her. He’s almost ready to go.

Good. She set the carrier on the corner of Rita’s desk and opened its door, gently easing the rangy tomcat out of it. The blood on his muzzle had dried—a good sign, since he hadn’t continued to bleed—and he yowled at her again. With a hopeful smile, she carried the protesting animal into the shelter’s pre-op room.

Angie Rodriguez, the shelter’s veterinary nurse, was inside, already waiting with everything needed to get the injured cat ready for his treatment. I think he’s a stray, maybe even feral; he’s got no collar or tags, and no flattened-down area in the fur around his neck to mark that he ever wore them, Mel warned her. I don’t know if he’s eaten in the last 24 hours, but it’s likely.

Brian Evans turned from the sink, finished washing up, and grabbed a pair of latex gloves out of the box at the side of the counter. Let’s have a look at him, then.

Gently, Mel unwrapped the towel from around the cat, one hand cupped gently around his shoulders to keep him from trying to bolt. No doubt he’s scared to death, poor thing. And I’m sure the smell of rubbing alcohol and other chemicals in here aren’t helping him any. The bronze feline sat patiently as Brian and Angie examined him. The vet and nurse poked and prodded carefully for other broken bones or swollen, hot, tender areas that would indicate internal bleeding.

At last, Brian straightened up, a trace of exasperation on his weathered features. This cat’s fine.

What? She looked down at the cat and then back up at Brian in disbelief. What about the blood on his muzzle?

It’s probably from that road kill you told Rita he was eating, he shrugged her question off. His leg’s fine. The rest of him, too. But since I know you’re going to want to keep him at the shelter until we can find a home for him, I’ll make time on my schedule after lunch to give him his rabies, FeLV, and feline distemper vaccinations. I don’t have anything on my slate tomorrow, so I’ll put him on the schedule to be neutered.

All right… she muttered, bewildered. I saw that leg! Even if there was nothing else wrong with him, it was broken. I didn’t imagine it…

Why don’t you take him out to one of the volunteers and get him cleaned up? Brian said soothingly. He’s probably got fleas, like most of the strays we’ve seen this summer. The older man smiled amiably. I’m not saying you’re losing it, Mel, but we all know you’re under a lot of stress. Have you thought about taking some time off? Maybe you care too much, and you focus so much on what’s going on here that it can muddy your thoughts. If you took some time off, a day or so for yourself to relax and unwind, you’d be sharper when you come back.

Stephen Merritt won’t take any time off, will he? she asked acridly. With a sigh, she scooped the cat up, holding him firmly to her chest, one hand under his rear legs as she carried him out of pre-op.

None of the volunteers that usually helped around the shelter had arrived yet, and