ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LEAH BROWNING is the author of two nonfiction books for teens and pre-teens. Her fiction, poetry, essays, and articles have appeared in publications including The Saint Ann's Review, 42opus, Literary Mama, Blood Orange Review , and Autumn Sky Poetry. Her website is located at www.leahbrowning.com.
Ear Mites
By Leah Browning
The vet tells you that the kitten has ear mites. She has swabbed the kitten’s ear with a Q-tip, and she holds the stick out so you can see: it’s covered with little blackish dots.
“That’s their waste,” she says, and clucks sympathetically as the kitten shakes his head and flicks at his ear with one paw. “Has he been doing this a lot?”
“No,” you say. “I don’t think so.” But now that she’s pointed it out, the kitten seems to do nothing but flick his ears. You feel itchy just looking at him.
“I can’t believe that the humane society missed this,” the vet says.
When you get home, your boyfriend is at the table eating breakfast. He looks up and says, “How’d it go?”
“Raging case of ear mites,” you say. You open the carrier slightly and leave it in the bathroom, shutting the door on your way out. “Don’t touch him. The medicine needs to dry.”
“Geez, Molly, you let him sleep on the bed. Is it contagious?” your boyfriend asks.
You shake your head. “To other cats, not to us.” Still, while the kitten’s in the bathroom, you strip the bed and wash the sheets in hot water.
Your boyfriend leaves for work, pretending to check your scalp for nits as he kisses you goodbye. You grimace but say nothing. He’s been a good sport since you brought the kitten home from the shelter.
Two years have passed since your husband’s death, and the twinge you felt at the sight of the tiny face behind glass seemed like proof: a maternal instinct, long dormant, slowly ticking to life. Now you’re not so sure.
After a moment, you hear the sound of claws, a frantic scratching at the bathroom door. You busy yourself with other things. You wait.
Published October 2007