CHAPTER FIVE FINDING SAMANTHA—IF TWINK IS GONE—WHAT HAPPENED TO SCRUGGS?(21st installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

CHAPTER FIVE

FINDING SAMANTHA—IF TWINK IS GONE—WHAT HAPPENED TO SCRUGGS?

(21st installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

When finally the office door opened, as planned, I was first in line, paperwork in hand.  I had the adoption questionnaires and the completed contracts, as well as Scruggs’s kennel and tag numbers.  I was ready to adopt!

I handed the paperwork to the same kindly worker who had helped me earlier.  She smiled at me as I stepped up to her workstation.

“How can I help you today?” she asked.

“I’m back for my dog and kitten,” I answered, smiling.  “I have the paperwork all ready for Scruggs and Twink!”

Reading the paperwork, she tapped the information into her computer.  Suddenly a stricken look crossed her face.  She looked at me, frowned, then turned back to her computer, tapped a few more keys, sighed, then handed me back my paperwork.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but the computer says the kitten you chose was adopted on Saturday, and the dog—well, the dogs in kennel 83—their last day was supposed to be Saturday.”

It was like a blow to my midsection.  Tears immediately sprung to my eyes.  “No, no,” I whispered.  “It can’t be.  The kitten was supposed to be available today…and, remember, you promised me that you’d put a ‘hold’ label on my dog?  I told you I’d be back today.  Remember?”

Blankness stared back at me.

I crushed the paperwork in my hand, using all my self-control to keep from throwing it back in her face.

I tried again.  “I was the one who didn’t know the tag number of the dog.  He was the golden retriever mix kept in the inside cage.”

Still blankness.

I gave it one more shot, humbling myself to try to jog her memory.  “Remember, I was the one who started to cry,” I said.

She closed her eyes; shook herself, then looked more closely at me.  Finally, she nodded her head.  “I remember.  And, yes, I did say I would put a ‘hold’ on your dog.  It doesn’t show on my computer, but after you left I distinctly remember having the kennel worker put a ‘hold’ and date stamp on his card.”

Relief flooded over me, but it was quickly replaced by irritation.  Twink was the compromise I had made with my husband.  Twink was his choice and it looked as if I had failed him.  How would he take the loss of the kitten he had already named and claimed as his own?

Anger overcame irritation.  The warrior in me began to bubble to the surface.  I was doing battle for someone other than myself.  I was ready for war!

“But the kitten,” I asked, my voice snapping with anger.  “What happened to the kitten?  Why was she adopted on Saturday?”

My question was met with a shrug of her shoulders and a sigh.  She paused a moment, shrugged her shoulders again, and said, “Mix-up with the paperwork, I guess.”

I vibrated as my anger grew.  All my criminal defense lawyer instincts told me she was not telling me the truth.  I remembered her telling me that “others” had wanted to adopt the kitten, and I also knew that many times the volunteers got first pick of the animals they wanted to keep them for themselves, not waiting for the mandated time to elapse.

The worker must have read my face because she immediately apologized.  “Listen, I’m sorry about this.  But I can tell you the kitten went to a good home.  She didn’t go to a rescue group.  She’s in a private home.”

This was supposed to soothe me?  I had done everything right.  I was here, first in line, my paperwork complete, my home was appropriate.  How could this have happened?

Yet even with my anger at losing Twink, I thought of the long, unpaid hours the volunteers gave to the shelter.  Maybe it was only appropriate they should have the choice of animals.  Twink was in a good home, but what of Scruggs? 

If paperwork could be mishandled so easily, what if something horrible had happened to my dog?

“Can you check to make sure if my dog is okay?” I asked, leaning across the counter trying to read her computer.

She tapped a few more keys on her keyboard, but continued frowning.  “I can’t tell for sure.  All this tells me is that there is one dog in kennel 83, but it doesn’t say what the tag number is.”

“Can’t I go look?” I asked.

“The kennel opens at nine o’clock,” she said.  “You can go then.”

There was something in her tone that was too final, too ominous.  Crushing the paperwork to my chest, I staggered outside to wait for the kennels to open.