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So, it turns out that training a cat to detect seizures costs a lot of money. Like, a lot a lot. A shit ton, if you will.
“You’re kidding me. Ten thousand dollars?” Jeremy moans, putting his face in his hands. His voice is muffled by his palms as he says, “We’re never going to be able to afford that.” Silently, he curses his mother- she was the main breadwinner of the house, so things had been a little different without her.
“I know, son,” Mr. Heere says, and rubs Jeremy’s back; it’s a comforting touch, but it’s not enough. “I’m sorry, truly. I really wish we could do it, but…”
Jeremy sighs and looks up, eyes peeking up over his fingertips. He’s not angry at his father, just the situation, but it still comes out as a growl when he says, “It’s just so stupid. Why does everything cost money?”
Mr. Heere shrugs, though it’s not nonchalant. “That’s how life is, buddy. You can commiserate with Karl Marx about it.”
“I’m not going to become a communist just because I can’t get a seizure cat, Dad.”
“You never know.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and is silent for a few moments before an idea occurs to him. It’s perfect! It’s genius! It’s- “We could just get a normal cat and hope it detects my seizures. I mean, it would be a lot cheaper, and if it doesn’t work, we’d still get a cat out of it.”
“Oh, you don’t even want a service animal, Jeremy, you just want a cat,” Mr. Heere says with a laugh. “But, you know… I think, all things considered, it might be good for us to get a pet anyway. It’d make the house a little less quiet, don’t you think?”
It’s true- the house has been quiet for the past couple of years, ever since his mom walked out on them. His father’s been going in and out of depressive episodes ever since; he’s not in one right now, but maybe a cat would help them both when it flares up again. If not, well, Jeremy would just be glad to have a little furry friend hanging around.
“Well, I’m not gonna say no to getting a cat,” Jeremy says, perking up. “When can we go to the shelter?”
“You just got home. You should at least rest for a couple days before we go making any big life changes,” Mr. Heere points out. He gives Jeremy a smile, though, and adds, “Don’t worry, champ. We’ll get a cat eventually, okay?”
Jeremy gives an exaggerated groan. “Uuuugh, fine,” he says, but he’s not all that frustrated. If anything, he’s more saddened. Why does he have to have this stupid diagnosis, anyway? Why can’t he just do what he wants?
Mr. Heere places a gentle hand on Jeremy’s back and says, “Look, Jeremy. I know taking the time to get situated again is wearing on you. Just hang in there.”
“Yeah, alright,” Jeremy grumbles. Sighing, he forces himself to look on the bright side: maybe the excitement of this promise would get him through the next few days.
“We’re getting a cat,” is the first thing that comes out of Jeremy’s mouth when he opens the door for Michael. “Like, for real. Finally.”
“Oh, sick!” Michael high-fives Jeremy as he lets the screen door swing shut behind him and enters the house. “Will you let me name it?”
Jeremy rolls his eyes. “You know? As much as I love you, Michael-” Michael leans in and makes kissy noises; Jeremy pushes him away- “I’m not going to let you name my cat. You’d probably name it something weird.”
“Naming your cat Chia Tortilla is perfectly valid, I’ll have you know,” Michael says, and sticks his nose up. “Better than, I dunno… what would you even name a cat?”
“Um, I hadn’t thought of that.” Jeremy opens the basement door and walks down the stairs, feet thump-thumping on the tan carpet. “Maybe Garfield, but after the guy who made Magic the Gathering instead of after the comic strip.”
Michael snickers as he follows Jeremy. “God, you are such a geek.”
“Yeah, said the pot to the kettle,” Jeremy says. “Apoc or Brawl?”
Michael rubs his hands together like a particularly mischievous fly. “I’m in the mood to kick your ass. Put in Brawl.”
“Oh, as if.”
But Michael does kick Jeremy’s ass, since he’s probably the most talented gamer he knows. After a few rounds, Jeremy drops his controller and says, “Okay, this is getting boring. You wanna look at what cats are available around here?”
“Hell, yeah,” Michael says. “...But dogs are still better.”
Jeremy scoffs as he pulls his laptop out from beneath his bed. “They totally aren’t. Dogs shit all over, and they’re so noisy.”
“Yeah, but at least they don’t bite or scratch unless they’re totally off their rockers.”
“Yeah, but,” Jeremy says, mockery in his voice, “if they’re off their rockers, they could kill a small child. Get back to me when some rabid Great Dane rips your face off.” He types in his password, then pulls up Chrome and types in shelter cats near metuchen nj. Petfinder seems promising, but when he pulls it up, it’s almost entirely dogs. “Oh, great,” Jeremy grumbles. “Yeah, let me just adopt Bilbo the Beagle.”
“I mean…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you want me to get a dog.” Jeremy scrolls through the pages until he finds a grey-and-white kitten with dazzling green eyes: Owen, domestic shorthair, 3 miles away. “Oh, my God,” he says, “look at this one. Isn’t it adorable?”
Michael leans in and grins. “Awww, look at its ears! They’re so big! Dude, you’ve gotta get him.” His shoulder brushes against Jeremy’s, and Jeremy’s cheeks warm in a particularly un-manly way.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, dude. You should totally come with when we go to pick him up; I want him to meet you.”
“I’m at your house almost every day, Jer,” Michael points out. “He’d meet me sooner or later.”
“It’s a pivotal moment in my life! I… want you to be there, okay?” Jeremy says, scratching his arm. “Just make sure he likes me more than you.”
“Impossible. Everyone loves me,” Michael boasts, putting his hands proudly on his hips. “That includes cats.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jeremy says, and rolls his eyes. It’s true, though; Michael’s super lovable, and he’d say it’s inexplicable, but in reality, there’s about a trillion reasons Jeremy can think of off the top of his head that he loves him. Still, it would suck if his cat was more attached to his best friend than him. “Try, then.”
“I’ll turn down the charm.”
“Thanks, man,” Jeremy says, and wraps an arm around Michael’s shoulders. He’s got a great (sometimes) dad, a great (always) best friend, and soon, he’s gonna have a great cat.
Or so he thinks.
Mr. Heere pulls up to Owen’s temporary owners’ house, Jeremy and Michael in tow, just as a couple walks out the door. Jeremy’s eyes travel downward, and he spots a cat carrier in the woman’s hands; a sinking feeling hits him as a grey-and-white kitten presses its face against the bars of the cage. “Oh, my God, are you shitting me?” he says to nobody in particular. “They got Owen!”
“Now, hold your horses; maybe it’s Owen’s brother or sister,” Mr. Heere says, and steps out of the car; Jeremy and Michael silently follow. “Excuse me,” he asks the couple, “is that Owen in that cage there?”
The woman nods, an apologetic smile crossing her face. “Sorry. I guess we were just in time…” She looks down at the carrier, then back up. “Um, if it helps, there was a whole litter there. Maybe you’d be interested in his sister or something.”
Jeremy, however, is still downtrodden, tears pricking at his eyes. “But I wanted Owen,” he mumbles inaudibly. He knows he’s being a baby, and that any cat should be good enough for him, but once he has his heart set on something, it’s hard to let it go.
Michael, who knows him better than he knows himself, places a hand on Jeremy’s back, rubbing it gently. “You good, bud?” he asks, lips dangerously close to his ear.
Jeremy nods, attempting to shrug it off. “I’m good,” he says. To the couple, he says, “Well, have fun with him. We’ll go check out the rest of the litter.”
“That’s the spirit!” Michael says, and claps Jeremy on the back, to which Jeremy smiles. Maybe it’ll be fine.
The couple drive off, and Jeremy, Mr. Heere, and Michael approach the door, Jeremy reaching out to ring the doorbell. In a few moments, a tired-looking woman opens the door and smiles. “Hey! You here about the kittens?”
Jeremy nods, less enthusiastic than he’d like to be. “Yeah,” he says, “could we come in and see them?”
“Of course.” The woman stands away from the door to let the small party inside and directs them to the living room, where two kittens are play-fighting on the floor, one blue-grey and one white. “Those are Regina and Florence,” she says, pointing first to the white one and then to the blue one. “They’re both girls, if you couldn’t tell.”
Jeremy has to admit, the remaining kittens are pretty damn cute. As he watches, Florence separates herself from her sister and scampers over to him, mewing as she goes. He crouches down and lets her sniff his fingers; when her tongue rasps against them, he gives a hesitant smile. “She’s really cute,” he says. “C’mere, guys. Come say hi.”
Michael sits down, cross-legged, next to Jeremy, and runs a hand down Florence’s back. He grins as she begins to purr; turning to Jeremy, he asks, “Do you think she could detect seizures? I mean, that’s why your dad is getting you a cat, right?”
“Kinda-sorta,” Jeremy says, and picks up Florence, setting her in his lap, where she curls into a little blue-grey ball. “We don’t have enough money to pay for training, so we’re just gonna hope whatever cat we get is good at detecting them.”
Michael shrugs. “Hey, it’s as good a plan as any.”
“And she’s a real sweetheart, it seems like,” Mr. Heere chimes in, leaning over Jeremy so he can see. “What d’you think, Jeremy? Is she as good as Owen?”
Jeremy laughs, having forgotten his earlier woes. Why was he so upset? Any cat is the right cat for him. “Yeah, she is,” he says, and scritches Florence’s forehead. “How much is she?” he asks the woman, who just laughs in response.
“She’s free to a good home,” she says. “Don’t you worry. Seriously, we need to get them out of the house.”
“I wouldn’t be able to give up kittens if I were you,” Jeremy says, and resists the urge to coo at the little cat in his lap. He looks up at his father and asks, “So, can we keep her?”
“Well, I promised,” Mr. Heere says, and leans down to ruffle Jeremy’s hair. Jeremy smooths it down a second later. “Michael, why don’t you go get the carrier from the car?”
“On it, sir,” Michael says, and he’s off; in the meantime, Jeremy just scratches Florence beneath the chin. He’s pretty sure this is gonna be the start of something great.
It’s because of a mix of luck and medication that Jeremy doesn’t have another seizure until Florence is about five months old. It’s nothing that bad, not a tonic-clonic seizure or even a complex partial like the first time; it’s just an absence seizure. Still, Florence flips her shit.
Jeremy’s playing Pokémon Omega Ruby on a Friday afternoon when Florence jolts up from where she’s been curled up for the past few hours, sleeping soundly at the foot of Jeremy’s bed. Her eyes are wide, ears pricked, and she almost knocks the breath out of Jeremy’s lungs as she rushes up his body and sits on his chest. She cranes her neck to lick Jeremy’s chest, which is super endearing, but worrisome all the same.
Jeremy only has the time to get half a thought in about if this is a special seizure detection thing before his mind goes blank. His eyes lose focus, and he stares into the middle distance, through no conscious decision of his own. Undeterred by his lack of reaction, Florence continues to lick Jeremy’s nose, and, if Jeremy wasn’t in a state of altered consciousness, he would worry that she might lick it raw.
And then he blinks, eyes refocusing. He doesn’t feel different; there’s not that tired sensation weighing him down like last time. It’s as if nothing happened- no hospital this time, thank God. Still, there’s certain implications about his medications, but who cares? Florence did her job!
“You,” Jeremy says, lifting Florence up like Simba toward the ceiling, “are a very good cat.” Florence just chirps in response, wiggling until Jeremy sets her down. “Wait ‘til Michael hears about this.”