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proper word for them is feral. They hate being touched by people. They think of us as predators, something that will hurt them.”
    Maggie and I exchange surprised looks. Can this be true? I know that some cats have to live outside, but I can’t imagine a cat that wouldn’t like Dr. Mac. Or me.
    Dr. Mac opens the equipment box and takes out what looks like a giant pair of oven mitts. “This guy could be infected with any number of diseases. I guarantee he’ll try to scratch or bite me,” she says, putting on the mitts. “I’m going to need these just to get him in the cage.”
    As she picks up the blanket the cat is lying on, he jerks his neck and sinks his teeth into the nearest mitt.
    “See?” she says. “The best thing to do is to get him into the clinic as soon as possible. Once we’re there, I’ll give him a sedative to calm him down. Then I’ll be able to examine him. Safely.” She puts the feral cat in the cage, closes the door, then quickly drapes a big towel over the cage.
    “Why did you cover it?” I ask.
    “So he’ll feel more secure,” Dr. Mac says, taking off the protective mitts. “You didn’t find Socrates?”
    “No,” I say sadly. “And he’s hurt, Dr. Mac. You should have seen the cut on his leg.”
    “Zoe told me what happened.” She sighs heavily. “I’ve seen him chase cats out of the yard before, but he always comes right back.”
    She looks like she’s about to say more, but she stops herself. She’s probably thinking about all the dangerous things a cat can run into: cars, dogs, poisonous plants. No—I can’t let myself think about it. We’ll find him. We have to.
    “David and Brenna are asking around to see if anyone has seen him. We know he came this way,” Maggie explains.
    Dr. Mac looks around, then checks her watch. “If he doesn’t show up by tomorrow, you kids can make up some flyers with his picture and hand them out. We have to get back to the clinic now. Go find Brenna and David, and meet me at the van.”
    She picks up the cage, and the cat inside it meows.
    “We’re leaving? What about the other cats around here?” I ask. “Mrs. Frazier said the Animal Control people were going to round them up tomorrow. She made it sound like they were all going to be put to sleep! What if they capture Socrates, too?”
    “We’ll talk about it at the clinic, Sunita,” Dr. Mac says. “I promise.”

    When we get to the clinic, the other kids head to the kitchen for a snack. I follow Dr. Mac into the exam room.
    Dr. Mac sets the cage with the feral cat in it on the metal exam table, then she prepares a sedative. She takes a small glass vial out of the refrigerator and sets it on the counter. Next, she takes a syringe out of a drawer. She sticks the needle of the syringe through the rubber cap of the vial and draws out a little of the liquid sedative.
    “This will relax him and take the edge off the pain he’s suffering. Then we’ll be able to see what’s going on.”
    “Aren’t you going to take him out of the cage first?” I ask.
    Dr. Mac shakes her head. “Not until he’s medicated. I can’t examine him wearing those protective mitts, and I don’t like being bitten.”
    She walks around the table until she’s standing behind the caged cat.
    “I want you to stand where he can see you, but stay far away. I don’t want him to stick his paw out between the bars and scratch you. Call to him. Distract him so I can get this done.”
    The cat’s ears are flicking forward and backward as he tries to hear what is going on around him and keep track of where we both are.
    “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” I call, making a squeaking noise. “Over here, sweetie. Look at me.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dr. Mac ready to stick the needle through the bars of the cat carrier. The cat turns his head and looks at Dr. Mac. He struggles to his feet.
    “No, no, over here,” I say in a high-pitched voice. “Kitty, stay still.”
    Dr. Mac raises the