The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Selena held Burps in her lap. His hind leg was wrapped in a bandage. He purred and drooled on her jeans past his one front tooth.

"He's still weak," Nick said. "The vet said he'd probably been lying there for a few days without food or water. Might have been a dog that got him. It took 20 stitches to put him back together. He's full of antibiotics, too."

"He's getting old," she said. "It was only a matter of time before something caught him. What are we going to do with him? He can't stay here, he's a Tom. Once he recovers he won't be happy inside like this."

She was right. In California, Burps had been king of the woods around Nick's cabin. He'd lived in the open all his life.

"I couldn't leave him in California, he would have died. I was thinking he could live at the Project. Lots of room outside, mice to chase, a fence to keep the dogs away. Trees to climb, if he wants. Kind of a perfect cat retirement home, if you ask me. We owe him. It's why I brought him back East."

As if he knew what they were thinking, the cat looked up at Selena with half-open eyes and gave a loud, contented belch.

"That would work." She looked at him. "What's the matter? You've got that serious look you get sometimes."

"I've been thinking about what you said. About seeing someone. I made an appointment with a counselor for tomorrow afternoon."

"You did?" She was surprised. She hadn't thought he'd do it.

"He's on a list of people with security clearance. He specializes in PTSD and he was in Afghanistan. That's one reason I picked him. I couldn't talk to someone who hasn't been through it. They wouldn't understand."

As Selena petted the cat, she felt uncertainty twist in her gut. Things are going to change. If he goes to the first appointment. If he keeps going. She wanted him to go. Things couldn't go on like they had been, she was certain of that. But no one could predict what it would stir up.

She'd have to wait and see.