I quit my job yesterday over a cat.

I suppose that explains why everyone calls me “the crazy cat lady.” Not because I have a lot of cats, but because of how attached I am to my big orange Maine Coon cat, Sal.

My name is Wyn Miller, and I’m a nurse-practitioner. Until yesterday I’d worked at the City Hospital pretty much my whole adult life, starting when I was in med school and then continuing the next ten years while a series of apocalyptic events wiped out a good portion of the world’s population, and then things settled down and survivors began rebuilding.

Now I was starting to have some second thoughts. Not about Sal, never about Sal, but about my job. What was I going to do next?

Career plans would have to wait though. Sal was giving me the look that meant he needed some exercise before he got the zoomies. My studio apartment was too small for him to work off his restless energy, but fortunately his prior owner had trained him to wear a harness and walk on a leash.

There was a small park, just one city block square, not far from my apartment, and that’s where we headed. It was early enough in the morning, much as I wanted to sleep in, ten years of twelve-plus-hour shifts that started at six a.m. sharp had left me wide awake by five, so we didn’t attract the usual number of people who wanted to get a closer look at that rarity of post-Disasters life, a housecat.

Once at the park, I let out Sal’s extendable leash so he could wander freely without any risk of getting lost. Over the next twenty minutes, he rolled in the grass, climbed a few trees, and parkoured over a bench, while I considered my career options. I could go into private nursing, but what would Sal do while I worked long hours, possibly even lived with my patient? I couldn’t leave Sal alone, cooped up in my tiny apartment.

As Sal continued to play and I fretted, the number of park visitors increased. Most were in a rush and only paused briefly to stare at the surprising sight of a cat on a leash. Sal would race over to sniff their shoes and then go back to his romping. Occasionally, someone would come through more slowly, apparently out for a quiet morning stroll. At the sight of Sal, they would sit on the nearest bench and invite him closer. Sal, more gregarious than the typical cat, always obliged, repeating his shoe-sniffing before allowing the person to give him a quick pat on the head and then taking off again.

The pattern changed with the arrival of a man who appeared to be in his mid-forties, but was emaciated and shuffled along as if he were in his eighties. I may have forgotten to mention it, but in addition to being a nurse-practitioner, trained in state-of-the-art medical treatment, I have a secret skill, the ability to make diagnoses based on a person’s aura. Yeah, I know. Not very scientific, which is why I keep it a secret. In any event, I could tell, even from twenty feet away, that the latest park visitor had the wasting disease that had first been identified about ten years earlier in the midst of the apocalyptic disasters.

The man’s illness wasn’t surprising. The disease still struck widely and seemingly at random.

What was surprising was Sal’s reaction to the man. After the briefest of shoe-sniffing, Sal jumped up onto the bench to perch next to the man’s thigh and stare up at him longingly. The cat’s prior owner had had the same illness, so maybe Sal could sense it and was trying to comfort this person as he’d done for his prior owner. Dogs had long been used to diagnose health conditions using their elevated sense of smell. It seemed likely that cats could do it too, but had never been tested due to their supposed inability to be trained.

It was worth finding out if Sal could sense the disease, I thought. Explaining Sal’s diagnostic skills would give me cover for my aura reading, since science accepted that animals had senses that humans didn’t. Plus, judging by the slight easing of the pain lines on the man’s face, patients could benefit from a cat’s attention. Not in lieu of standard treatment, of course, but in addition to it.

My doubts about leaving the City Hospital vanished instantly. I still had to work out all the details, starting with where we’d live and how I’d convince patients to accept Sal’s help along with mine, but whatever happened next, we would be together.

Two Cats Are Better Than One, A Crazy Cat Lady Chronicles #2
Genre: Cozy
Release: September 2021
Purchase Link

Wyn Miller is edging closer to fully deserving the label of crazy cat lady. In addition to her original cat, Sal, she’s added two more adults and their kittens. Not to hoard them, but to train them to provide animal therapy as an adjunct to her private nursing.

Her latest patient, Peter, is in bad shape, having given up on life. The cats perk him up a little, but then one of his neighbors is murdered, and everyone thinks the victim’s girlfriend did it. Not Peter though, and he begs Wyn for help clearing her name.

Investigating a murder might not be standard medical treatment, but if it will keep her patient fighting to live, she’ll do it. With Sal’s help, of course.

About the author
Gin Jones overcame a deeply ingrained habit of thinking and writing like a lawyer in order to write fiction. In her spare time, Gin makes quilts, grows garlic, and advocates for patients with rare disorders. Connect with Gin at ginjones.com.

All comments are welcomed.

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Gin has generously offered to give away one kindle of One Cat For The Road. To enter, please leave a comment below. One entry per person. Giveaway ends October 8, 2021. Good luck everyone!