Masks (7 page)

T
he shrubbery moves again, and Michaela emerges. She stands, and I feel my face flushing with embarrassment. I’m glad she can’t see me. How could I have thought even for a second that she had turned into a cat? What’s happening to me?

She walks slowly toward me. “Can you catch that cat?” she asks me softly.

The black cat pauses between us. It looks from side to side, realizing that we’re closing in on it.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” I coax.

While it’s looking at me, Michaela moves toward it from behind, closer and closer. But the
cat turns, sees her, and bolts off into the woods. Michaela and I exchange a look of defeat and frustration. If it’s her cat, wouldn’t it come right to her?

“That cat’s coat is in terrible condition,” I say.

“I know,” she says, tossing her wild hair back over her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to catch it for weeks. I leave food for it every night.” She nods toward a plate of cat food and a bowl of water over by the corner of her house.

I was wrong about her. This isn’t her cat and she hasn’t been mistreating it at all. Instead, she’s been trying to help it. I’m so glad I didn’t get a chance to confront her. I would have felt like an idiot when I discovered the truth.

“This cat isn’t the least bit friendly. It just eats and runs,” she continues as she goes back inside the house. “It’s definitely on its own. I’d like to bring it in on Halloween. I’ve heard that people should keep their cats in on that night.”

“I’ve heard the same thing,” I say as I follow her. “If we could catch it, I could cut those clumps from its fur. Otherwise the clumps will spread over its whole body.”

She sits on a chair in the kitchen and gestures for me to sit, too. “I was planning to brush
her,” she says. “It would probably be difficult, though.”

I sit beside her. “I’ve done it before at the clinic,” I say.

“That place up the road?” she asks.

“Yes.” I tell her about Dr. Mac’s Place and how my friends and I volunteer there. “Well, I used to volunteer there,” I correct myself. “I’m not sure I will anymore.” I tell her how I’ve started the lab internship at AVM. “And now Brenna’s disappointed and angry with me. She thinks it’s unethical of me to work in a place with lab animals.”

“You’re having a shift,” Michaela says.

I look up, curious. “What do you mean?”

She speaks slowly, as though she wants to choose her words carefully. “Sometimes in life, people go through a period of time when they move from one way of being to a different way,” she explains. “It’s a time when you feel a lot of confusion and you don’t know who you are. You might not even recognize the feelings you have and words you say as being your own.”

“That is exactly what I’ve been feeling!” I say excitedly. “Why is this happening?”

“Because you’re ready for it to happen.”

“How will I change?”

Michaela laughs lightly. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s different for everyone. The change might take a long time. You have to pay attention.”

“Attention to what?” I ask.

“To what you’re feeling, to the places where life is directing you. You have to find your inner spirit. That’s what I’ve tried to capture in that cat mask—the animal’s bold, wild inner spirit. It isn’t easy since it won’t even sit still for me. Sometimes I have to be very quiet and just watch it.”

“I wonder what my mask would look like if it showed who I really am inside,” I say.

“Fierce. Passionate,” Michaela replies without hesitating.

Her description surprises me. I’m shy and sensible. At least, that’s how I’ve always been. What does she see in me that I can’t see?

“That doesn’t seem true to you, does it?” Michaela says.

“No,” I say. “I don’t think anyone really sees me that way.”

“You may be the one who doesn’t see yourself like that,” she says. “Pay attention. I have a hunch that you’ll view things differently soon.”

How does she know these things? Could she really be a witch?

Again she answers my unasked question, at least the first one. “I know, because I’ve had shifts in my life, several times.” She snaps her fingers. “I know why I thought we’d met!” she says. “You stopped your bike outside my house last weekend. I saw you from my bedroom window.”

“I have to tell you this,” I say, “because now it seems so ridiculous. My friends had the idea that you’re a witch. They almost had me believing it when you went into the bushes and the cat ran out. I actually was starting to wonder if you had taken the form of that stray cat! I hope you’re not offended.”

“Offended? No! I’m delighted,” she says, smiling. “People have been claiming that witch women turned into cats ever since the time of the Greeks. I wish I could turn into a cat. It would be like being part of a great tradition.”

“You don’t mind that we thought you were a witch?” I ask.

“Witches get a bad rep,” she replies. “You know, historically, witches were simply female figures with power, followers of ancient goddesses
of the earliest religions. As the world’s religions became more male-dominated, men turned these powerful females into evil spirits. Then they began picking on women who were healers and accusing them of being evil figures. Cats are so mysterious, they also became associated with the witches.”

I want to hear more about the history of witches, but my mother has come into Michaela’s house and is calling. “Hello? Anyone here? Sunita?” I forgot she was planning to stop by tonight to meet Michaela. Mom always wants to meet my teachers.

Michaela gets up. “Time to go.”

Mom is impressed with Michaela and her masks. They talk about her art a few minutes and then we leave. “She’s a very talented woman,” my mother says as we drive home.

“Nice, too,” I add. It’s funny to think that less than a half hour earlier, I was ready to tell her off for the way she treats her cat.

It’s strange how often you find out you don’t have the whole story, and when you get the complete picture, it changes the way you think. “Mom?” I ask. “Do you ever wonder whether or not you’ve done the right thing?”

She glances at me and laughs lightly. “All the time. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just wondering. What do you do about it?”

“I try to learn as much as possible. It helps to know all the facts. Then I do the best I can. Is something on your mind?”

My mind is so full of questions that I don’t know where to begin. “No,” I say, “nothing in particular.”

After supper, I call Dr. Mac to find out if Mittens is doing any better. She says things about elevated levels in Mittens’ blood that I don’t understand. I know it isn’t good, though.

I do my homework and try to read the novel we’ve been assigned. The book is OK, but my mind isn’t on it. I realize I’m very tired so I wash up, change into my pajamas, and crawl into bed.

Exhausted as I am, I fall right asleep. I keep having weird dreams, though, and after a while I can’t sleep. The readout on my clock says it’s two-thirteen in the morning.

In my dreams, the white rat with the bent
whisker was speaking to me, but I don’t know what he was saying. Soon, he’s going to be killed. At least his death might help other animals. What if AVM could discover a better antibiotic for peritonitis? If a few rats died so my cat could live, wouldn’t it be worth it? Wouldn’t that be “just”? I don’t know.

I replay the conversation I had with Michaela. “You’re having a shift,” she said. That feels right to me. Something inside me is changing. I can feel it. That’s all I know, though. I have no idea what will happen next, or how big a change this will turn out to be.

Something is happening, that much is sure. I wish I could look into the future and see who I will turn out to be. I hope it’s someone I can respect.

I
’m awake when the sun rises, so I get up and start getting dressed. I’ve made a decision that I think is a just one.

I ride my bike over to AVM and arrive at about eight o’clock. Julie and John won’t be there until nine. That should give me plenty of time.

“You’re here early,” the receptionist comments when I walk in with my school backpack slung over my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m early today,” I agree. I smile and try to look casual. If I seem nervous, she might suspect that I’m up to something.

I get to the room where we usually work and jiggle the knob. Oh, no! Locked!

One of the custodians is down the hall. I hurry over to him. “Could you let me into the room with the animals?” I ask.

He begins to shake his head, but I take out the ID card Julie gave me. “I’m an intern. I need to feed the animals before school.”

“Oh, all right,” he says, unclipping the large ring of keys from his belt. “That’s very dedicated of you.”

“Yeah, well…” I reply. “Someone’s got to do it.”

I thank him, lock the door behind me, and toss my backpack by the door. The shades are drawn and the room is dark. Most of the animals are still curled up, asleep. Not bothering to turn on a light, I go to the rats’ tank. The five white rats are cuddled together, snoozing. I try to lift the tank, but it’s way too heavy.

How can I do this? My eyes dart around the lab. There’s got to be a way.

I remember my backpack lying by the door. That’s it! Grabbing the pack, I unzip it and unload the books, then return to the tank and take off the lid.

My rat friend from the other day is the first to look up at me. I can tell it’s the same rat because one whisker is slightly bent. I scoop him up and give him a nuzzle with my nose. Then I set him down inside my pack. He stands up immediately and starts sniffing. He probably smells the lunch that was in there just a moment before. I put his four sleepy pals in the backpack with him and zip it up.

Behind this lab is a supply room with a door that leads to an open, grassy field. The door is locked from the outside but not the inside. As long as I put a book in the doorway to hold the door open, I’ll be able to get back in.

Out in the yard I lay the backpack down and unzip it. “There you go,” I say to the rats. “You’re free. Go!”

I expect them to race out, but instead they stay inside the pack, sniffing. “What’s the matter with you guys?” I ask as I lift the pack and gently dump them out. “Get going!”

They just look at me and hang around as though they have no desire to escape. Freeing these animals is the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life—and they won’t leave!

My friend is the first to travel a little
distance. The others scurry after him. “That’s it,” I encourage them. “Be free.” They travel a little farther, sniffing cautiously as they go.

I am happy. Proud of myself, too. I wish I could have freed all those animals. I wonder if there’s still time. I could probably free the mice and maybe the hamster before nine o’clock.

Turning back to the door, I’m suddenly face-to-face with Julie. Her face is tight and serious.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

I stand firm. “It’s the right thing to do. Those rats don’t deserve to die. The other animals, either.”

“Those rats are very sick,” Julie says, “and now they’re going to die a much more terrible, drawn-out death, thanks to you.”

“But…” I begin. “I…I…What will happen to them?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” she replies. “Their eyesight will begin to fail. They’ll become dehydrated and—”

I hold up one hand to stop her. “You’re right,” I say. “I don’t want to know. I didn’t think about all that.”

“In this kind of work, you can’t afford not to think,” Julie says. She steps past me, her eyes fixed on something I can’t see.

I follow her gaze. One of the white rats is darting in and out of the tall grass. Picking up my pack, I head toward the rat. Julie reaches into her lab coat pocket and pulls out some pellets of food.

It isn’t hard to catch the rats. They’re so tame, they like people and feel safe around them. Julie catches the first rat almost instantly, as soon as she extends her hand holding the food pellet. Soon we have the other four, too.

We walk back into the lab without speaking and return the rats to their tank.

“Listen, Sunita,” Julie says finally, “these animals are not anyone’s beloved pets. We didn’t kidnap them or buy them in a dark alley from someone who stole them. They were bred to be research animals.”