The Sound and the Furry Read online

  People would go around asking each other, “Are you a Were?”

  I just hoped they didn't try to sniff our butts.

  I left the house after putting the Brood in the porch and giving them my promises. I promise to return for you. I promise I won’t abandon you. I promise to be home right after work. Oops, not right after work. After the Council meeting, but I’ll ask the guys to look in on you and Simon to feed you dinner. When I explained why it was important for me to attend the Council meetings, only Cherry Pip looked impressed, being the sole female in the Brood.

  I swear, leaving the house was more of a hassle than my commute. Less than ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot at the clinic — Alamo Veterinary Clinic, to be precise — and sighed heavily. Alice's car was already there. I hadn't beaten her to the clinic very often, but I always tried to, preferring to get my cup of coffee and seeing what was on the schedule before I had to encounter her.

  We all had surgery cases and each one of the seven vets had his own clientele, people who asked for them specifically. I was gratified that I had the biggest following at the clinic. What no one knew was that word had spread throughout the Were community that I could treat their dogs and cats. Yes, we had pets. And no, we didn't eat them.

  I used my keycard at the employee door and went inside. I headed for the locker room, grabbing a fresh set of scrubs. I was turning the knob on the combination lock of my locker just as she made an appearance, standing in the doorway and glaring at me as only Alice could.

  Alice and I clashed. After giving it a good faith effort I had decided to accept the fact that we would never be friends.

  I didn’t like being belittled. Nor was I a fan of snide, sarcastic comments, all of which I got from Alice. However, she was, with the exception of the Managing Partner, the vet with the most seniority. I had to keep my mouth shut and my head down. I’d had a lot of practice doing that as a female Furry.

  I wish she’d find a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or maybe even a mechanical friend. Alice was wound so tight that it was like her mainspring was broken. Sometimes, even saying good morning could set off a torrent of abuse, which was why I kept mum.

  I’d often thought that Alice might be an attractive woman if she didn't look so mean. There were two deep vertical lines between her eyebrows and more lines on either side of her mouth. I didn’t think the woman had seen that much hardship in her life, but I wasn't sure about that. She didn't share much of herself with anyone.

  I’d seen some pictures of famous heiresses of the past century. My grandmother had been friends with a few of them. Despite the fact that they’d had a great many blessings in life, a few of them looked miserable. Their mouths were turned down at the corners as if they didn’t often smile. Like nothing had ever met their approval or been good enough. Or maybe the Mean Fairy had waved a magic wand over their cribs.

  My grandmother said that sooner or later your disposition showed up in your face. By the time you were forty most people could figure out what kind of life you were having.

  Alice’s life sucked.

  "You’ve got a phone call," Alice said, managing to make that short sentence sound insulting.

  "Can you take a message?" I asked.

  I’d only changed my top. I still had the scrub bottoms, but I didn’t feel like stripping in front of Alice.

  "I'm not your secretary," she said, vanishing from the doorway.

  I bit back a word, walked into the reception area to the first desk and pushed the blinking light.

  I honestly thought it was a client, perhaps one of my first appointments rescheduling or someone asking a question about a post surgical complication.

  I hadn't expected Doreen Rice. After identifying herself, she launched into her spiel.

  "You've got to do something, Torrance. This isn't fair. Michael can't abandon us. Even your father didn't abandon you and your siblings."

  The very last thing I wanted to talk about was my father with Doreen or anyone else, for that matter. Our relationship was too odd to discuss.

  "Doreen, I can't do anything by myself. The Council will make a decision in a little while and will let you know what they decide."

  "You have to convince them, Torrance. There has to be something you can do."

  Most people, I suspected, believed I’d been put on the Council because my father thought I could do no wrong. After all, I was the first female. Trust me, that wasn't the reason. He knew I was different, ever since our encounter at the River Parade. Being appointed to the Council was an acknowledgment that I wasn't just a Were female anymore. I was something else and that something else might be scary. Keep your friends close, your strange Furry daughter closer.

  But because I was a Boyd princess, there hadn’t been as many audible grumbles as there might’ve been with someone else. Whatever Hamish wanted, Hamish got.

  "Doreen, I've got to go," I said and disconnected before she could say another word.

  "Trouble in paradise?"

  Something about Alice's voice grated on me. Every syllable was designed to irritate and annoy. I didn't turn and face her. Doreen had irritated me, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Alice.

  I waited until she left before returning to the locker room and changing into my scrub pants. I grabbed my stuff and put it into the locker, including my cell phone. All the vets locked away our phones during the day, one way to prevent us from getting whiny pleas from our younger vet techs. If we didn’t use our cell phones while we were working, it was hard for them to demand theirs.

  Besides, it was an example to our clients. There were signs all over the clinic to turn off your cell phones. There was nothing worse than giving someone a diagnosis — good or bad — about their pet and have them be nose deep in a political conversation on Facebook.

  While I went through the files on my cases for today, I replayed my conversation with Doreen. I didn’t know how to tell the older woman what I suspected: the Council was going to grant Michael Rice’s petition.

  There weren’t many divorces in the Wolf community. First of all, divorces were discouraged. The head of the family was supposed to take care of that family and ensure its wellbeing. He was not permitted to stray outside the marriage unless he could provide proof that he could financially support everyone.

  In my father’s case he had families in Dallas and Houston.

  It wasn’t bigamy. The women weren’t his wives. But they were afforded protection in our culture because they were his concubines. For example, if my father was run over by a truck tomorrow and hadn’t made legal provision for his concubines and families, the Were Council would step in and ensure that they were taken care of. They would put the screws to our family to make sure the right thing was done.

  Since my father was an attorney, I hoped he’d already taken care of those details.

  Unfortunately, Michael Rice had decided that, while he agreed to support Doreen and their son, Ronald, he just didn’t want to live with them anymore.

  A male Were was required to appear before the Council and ask their permission to divorce. It’s not a legal thing since the Were Council had no jurisdiction over lawful matters. We ceded that right to the state or federal government. Culturally, however, the Council must approve or deny the divorce.

  Even a legal divorce — if denied by the Council — would be considered null and void in our culture. As far as the Were world was concerned, no divorce had ever taken place. The husband was expected to live with his divorced wife, treat her with the same love and affection, and be a devoted father.

  That’s why it was important for a male to make his case, obtain approval, and get on with his life.

  Divorces weren’t automatically approved. That only happened in about half the cases. However, in Doreen's case, everyone on the Council was all for giving Michael his freedom.

  It wasn't that Doreen was a bad person. Even Michael had said that. She was just one of those people who complained a lot. Nothing was eve
r quite good enough, except for her son. He was perfect in her sight.

  Someone once said — and I don’t remember who — that you could judge the character of a man by how he treated those who could do nothing for him. I hadn’t been able to help Doreen, so up until this morning she’d pointedly ignored me.

  I still might have been willing to listen to the woman if she hadn’t made my mother’s life miserable for the past month. She’d been a constant visitor and caller, hoping that my mother could convince my father to deny the divorce. Evidently, since that hadn’t worked I was now her target.

  The rest of the day was as uneventful as my work life normally was, punctuated by funny moments and sad ones, too. The worst thing about being a vet was not having to euthanize a sick pet. It was the abuse I sometimes saw, covered up with stupid stories or macho bravado. Or having a sick animal I could treat and having owners who couldn’t — or wouldn’t — spend the money for the procedure.

  But the best things about being a vet? Witnessing the goodness of people, like the owner who wanted to secretly pay for a young couple’s vet bill. She could tell they didn’t have the money, but that they loved their little dog, Jasper. Or seeing the companionship a dog gave to his elderly owner and the love the owner exhibited in return. Plus, people were genuinely grateful for what I did. More than once I’d been brought to tears by a hug or a thank you.

  Today I treated three dogs with ear infections — not unusual in a wet, hot summer — gave tutorials on battling fleas to a few owners, and consulted on a mast cell tumor with a canine oncologist, Dr. Debby Hastings. She was brilliant in the field and I came away with a good feeling about Sam, the standard poodle who’d just received a bad histogram. I also examined a new litter of puppies, got scratched by two cats, and was asked for advice on an iguana. I claimed ignorance on the latter. The last time I’d examined an iguana was in school and many moons had passed since that day and this one.

  I worked late, catching up on my paperwork before heading for the Council meeting. Before I left the clinic I called Simon to check in on the Brood. Everything was fine. Dalton had tried to bark himself hoarse every time the lawn tractor started. Pepper had made his yippy bark heard as well. Only Cherry Pip had been her ladylike self, merely standing at the window examining everything with alert eyes.

  “Thank you for feeding them,” I said. “Otherwise, they’d think I was starving them on purpose.”

  Simon had a key to my house. He was the only person who did. I hadn’t even given my mother a spare key.

  “You’re spoiling them, Torrance,” he said, but his voice was warm.

  “You’re one to talk. Stop with the doggy treats, especially to Cherry Pip. She has to mind her girlish figure.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Peanut butter breath,” I said, smiling.

  I changed back into my jeans and top and wondered if I should have dressed up for the Council meeting. Nope. I wasn’t going to be all frou-frou among men I’d known all my life.

  What you saw was what you got. Well, almost. They didn’t have to know everything.

  Chapter Five

  I was the dangerous one

  The Northside Community Center where Council meetings were held was a sprawling complex of red brick buildings whose sole purpose was to provide a contained and safe place for Were families. In addition to a gymnasium and a swimming pool, various craft and hobby rooms, meeting rooms, and large conference areas could serve as venues for Were events and ceremonies.

  If a non Furry strayed into the Community Center, they were very politely given a tour and told that memberships were on a waiting list. Of course, no one ever got a phone call saying that they were approved and eventually people gave up.

  In the middle of the complex was a circular building set aside for the Were Council. The meeting room was circular as well and it was where I sat listening to Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne drone on. She should count her lucky stars that I was biting the inside of my lip and clasping my hands together so tightly beneath the table that I nearly ripped off my own knuckles.

  Although Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne — the way she introduced herself — wasn’t a member of the Council, she was the Recording Secretary, a job she took very, very seriously.

  Evidently, I’d made a typo on my report and she saw it as her duty to point out the error in front of the entire Council. Oh, and she tossed in a lecture on grammar, too.

  I think my biggest mistake had been writing and printing out the report without benefit of Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne’s assistance. Note to self: don’t do that again, even if it meant having to suck up to her. I inwardly groaned at the thought.

  I was an educated woman. I knew the difference between its and it's and there, they’re, and their. Okay, maybe I erred occasionally with lie and lay, but I would never be so tacky as to point out someone's failings in a public forum. Well, not exactly public. The Council was not open to visitors.

  “Thank you, Sylvia,” I said, hoping to cut the criticism short and failing.

  I didn’t look at the other members as I stood. Sylvia didn’t stop talking.

  This was only my third meeting and I was still very conscious of the dynamics of the group. When my father spoke, the other Council members watched him carefully, like staring at him would keep his power in check. I thought they were just a teensy bit afraid of him which both surprised and amused me.

  I was the dangerous one.

  The other members ignored me. They didn’t acknowledge me. They didn’t talk to me. Right at the moment, however, they were looking smug and amused and it was all because of Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne.

  My father had asked me to make recommendations about whether the Council makeup should change. In other words, should we have as many women as men?

  My report spelled out my advice — take it slow. Integrate one woman at a time. The sad fact was that our culture was paternalistic. Were women behaved like a fifties television show. We waited for the men of the family to come home to make the tough decisions. We ensured that our houses were spotless, that his meals were on time and delicious, and that sex was never refused and sometimes initiated. Men ate before women and — although things had changed in the last three months — some traditional female Furries still walked a few paces behind their mates.

  Were women needed to be brought into the 21st century gradually and with great gentleness. Someone had to repeatedly tell them that they would not be punished for having a thought.

  It’s not as if they had to remain in a subservient role. I’d broken free. My grandmother had, as well. I knew other women who had, but we were all subjected to an intense scrutiny and an active kind of humming disapproval.

  You know when you walked into a room and everyone stopped talking? Or when people didn’t quite meet your eyes? That’s what it was like for a Were woman who hadn’t done what was “expected” of her.

  “Thank you,” I said again, hoping Sylvia would finally come to a stopping point. She was into transitive verbs now and I could feel my eyes beginning to glaze over.

  The pounding on the double oak doors finally shut Sylvia up. All of us looked in that direction.

  Council meetings were considered sacrosanct. No self-respecting Furry would interrupt.

  Before Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne could make it to the door, it opened to reveal a windswept member of our clan.

  I abruptly sat. Evidently, badgering me at work wasn’t enough for the woman.

  Doreen Rice was short, what someone might call plump, and reminded me of a pigeon, one of those that strutted toward you with an arrogant glint in its eye. You’d better have some bird food or else.

  Her hair was black and cut in a bowl shape. Her brown eyes were narrowed as she took in the semi-circular shaped desk and each one of us in return. As the newest member of the Council, I sat on the end which meant I was closest to Doreen. And the door. The better to run from the room if necessary.

  “You can’t grant h
im the divorce,” she said, moving her gaze to my father. “Michael can’t be allowed to abandon me and Ronald.”

  I had to hand it to her. Not many people — and few women — had the courage to glare at Hamish Boyd.

  “You can’t allow him to walk away. Ronald needs him.”

  Ronald was twenty-three and without any ambition whatsoever other than to bed as many females as possible. I knew this personally because I’d been hit on by the darling boy more than once. Even the fact that I was almost ten years older hadn’t seemed to bother Ronald. Nothing did. He was as laid back as anyone I’d ever met. Plus he had a nose ring.

  (I didn’t understand the allure of a nose ring, myself. It reminded me of something a cow wore. It must hurt like hell when he transformed, but I wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t a good idea to evince any kind of curiosity around Ronald. He saw it as interest which was the last thing I wanted.)

  I suspected that my father did a mental double take at the idea of Ronald needing his father, but he didn’t reveal any of his thoughts. He was like that.

  Hamish Boyd was tall and commanding with a shock of white hair, a square face and direct blue eyes. When I was a little girl I used to think he was Optimus Prime. Except that he transformed into a wolf once a month — or whenever it suited him.

  “It isn’t fair,” Doreen said, her voice rising to a near shout. “The least he could do is offer his family a little loyalty.”

  Michael Rice had met a lovely young Furry who’d just graduated from UTSA. It had been, according to Michael, love at first sight.

  I didn’t know what it was with men, whether they were Were or a human male. Somewhere along the line they looked in the mirror and noticed that they were getting older. You could almost see their feet skidding to a stop. They started doing things like using Rogaine and dyeing their temples, working out, and trying to capture their youthful vigor by taking a little blue pill.

  Had that been the case with my father? To this day I don’t know why he felt the need to have two concubines. My mother was a beautiful woman with a great figure. Maybe they had philosophical differences. Who knows? It was a subject I’d never broached with either of them.